Wings cut the morning air drawing my eye to the sky.
Three crows, heavy with black, flew over the treetops
My mind said “no, don’t go” but the crows
Indecision plagued me.
Wings cut the morning air one more time
Five crows swooped, spiraling over my head
“ Think again, think again”.
Picking up my pack I gave in to their demand
And followed the crows into the wilderness.
It was a good day.