childhood / Poetry / Uncategorized / winter

A Congregation of Crows

The crows would gather

in winter

in the field


from her house

as I pressed my nose

to the chill of the glass door

fingers ready

to create

in condensation clouds

Outside the crows

quite a contrast

their gleaming black wings

against the white swan snow

They’d bicker and flock

holding trial and court

these wise winter wanderers

crunching across the the snow

their little bird feet

treading stricken grass

the tall evergreens

standing like sentinels

Days when I was

heater happy

these small jesters

multiplied their rants

scrutinizing the townsfolk

searching the lines of their faces

for soft hearts

for feeders of birds

A Murder of Crows

to be exact

demanding and dark

not harbingers of death

but gatherers

in a field of life

covered in snow

traced by the small fingers

of a little girl



31 thoughts on “A Congregation of Crows

  1. Wonderful LT! A reminisce beautifully captured. I swear the letters of the words turned into crows on the snow before my very eyes. πŸ™‚

  2. Crows aren’t my favorite bird, Lana, but this is a lovely memory you’ve penned (and it helps me to see these noisy birds through your nonjudgmental child’s eyes!)

    • Thanks Debbie. They really aren’t my favorite either, but before I wrote down my memory about them, I did a bit of research and found out how intelligent they are. I did not previously realize that about them….

  3. Love how the description of the crows changes throughout the poem, and how it all circles back to the little girl with her nose pressed against the glass. Like an eclectic package tied with a neat bow. Love it. πŸ™‚

  4. in this poem it’s as if you are painting two portraits: one of the crows and one of you as a little girl. both portraits come out vivid, nuanced, and true. some nice craft here as well, in lines such as “They’d bicker and flock/ holding trial and court/ these wise winter wanderers.” obviously i enjoyed reading and re-reading the poem.

    • That’s it, Michael… a story of me as a child on a cold winter’s day, and the flock of crows in a field across from my grandmother’s house. I’m glad you liked the poem, thank you so much for your lovely comment.

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