Thick, low clouds press down,
Smothering in their oppressive silence
A murder of crows flies near,
Their raucous caws fill the air with doom
Trees and grasses barren and dull,
prepared for winter's offerings
A bluebird wings past,
its sapphire brilliance dispels the gloom
Another flashes by, following the first
Always a harbinger of hope.
And have you ever wondered why it's called a MURDER of crows? Not a flock, not a gaggle, not a brood, or a flight, but a murder.
The interesting thing about this poem happened about three minutes after the murder of crows caught my attention. I received a text that my father-in-law was in the hospital.
Coincidence . . . or not?
Your call.
Sorry to hear about FIL. Hope that works out.
ReplyDeleteCrows are interesting birds. Much smarter than many people know. And a murder of crows is an intriguing phrase...Good book title, huh?
Let us know what's up with FIL
It wasn't a heart attack, Cyndi, so that was good news. They kept him overnight for observation, so we should hear something this AM. Thanks for asking.
ReplyDeleteNice, Margaret. Evocative.
ReplyDeleteHope your fil is home and feeling better.
Great imagery.
ReplyDeleteHope your FIL is better.
Interesting how things work.
Thanks, Marilyn & Meg.
ReplyDeleteTurns out my FIL was suffering from gout--it was in all his joints (which is weird), but it could have been due to medication causing pseudo-gout. They put him on meds and he's feeling much better. They are keeping him until Sunday because he's still unstable walking.