A Murder of Crows

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Black shapes glide overhead

Wave upon wave

Cawing loudly,

Calling their corvid brethren.

They swoop down

Roosting on treetops--

Golden, green, bare-twigged--

Like an autumn harvest

Of great black pears

Rich with fabled wisdom.

Solitary, flightless

I stand transfixed.

Full moon rises smoky,

Penumbral shadow.

I gaze at the dark heralds

Of Ancient Grandmother.

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    This page contains a single entry by Alakananda Ma published on October 19, 2013 2:15 PM.

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