Crows

Crows

    We sit and watch as the crow circles over the high desert landscape and the grass sways in circles around the sagebrush below him, prodded along by the wind.  We watch as the crow dips and loops, each move he makes is different yet each move he makes keeps him suspended over the same spot.
    There’s something poetic about a lone crow circling, you say, I can’t put my finger on it.  I suppose it’s just the eerie connotation to death that they carry with them.  You shiver.  Too much like death.
    More crows have come in and begun to circle.  One lands on the juniper tree and begins to cough in a loud, low voice.
    Yeah, I say, I can see what you mean.  Let’s go get some food.
    Okay.
    That night on the local news we watched as they said that the body of a young woman had been found mutilated in the desert.  The investigators suspected a possibility of foul play.
    And still the crows circle.