Crow pact

Crows rested in trees, cawed their good evenings and their good nights.
A dozen crows dotted the sandy beach near the windless tide.
One crow perched high on a sign, its gaze in profile to clouds patterned after smoke.
The crow observed the sky above children and cyclists, speed walkers and sunset chasers.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of her, and she glanced at me not at all.
Lest I trouble her with the sounds of shoes on gravel path, I raised one foot a full step toward her
And took her indifference for permission, then advanced another step.
No words escaped me, as I approached with another.
At last, close enough, I lifted the lens and snapped.

The crow turned its head to me. A pact.

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