"Dance of the Crows" (a suburban narrative)
The frolicking crows in the yard mimic a carribean dance,
one I've surely seen before; jumping and spiraling with twisted gait...
like the red oak that gives way to the gusts.
The black dancers steal my attention for a moment-
they seem oblivious to the storm approaching from just over the mountain...
Where do they go when the lightening shatters the air ?
From where do they come to perform this lively dance for me ?
Is it for me, or just the workings of benign instinct?
The dusty scent of approachin' rain,
threaten notions of solace...if the thunder claps break.
I quickly scurry inside and looking back at the little black dancers....
they are gone.
Out the window , a dim reflection...looking at me... wondering if they'll be back after the storm passes.
"Fix a hot cup of Black English ...and wait"...... i tell myself.
Counting the thunder claps and rolls...
I wait.
The frolicking crows in the yard mimic a carribean dance,
one I've surely seen before; jumping and spiraling with twisted gait...
like the red oak that gives way to the gusts.
The black dancers steal my attention for a moment-
they seem oblivious to the storm approaching from just over the mountain...
Where do they go when the lightening shatters the air ?
From where do they come to perform this lively dance for me ?
Is it for me, or just the workings of benign instinct?
The dusty scent of approachin' rain,
threaten notions of solace...if the thunder claps break.
I quickly scurry inside and looking back at the little black dancers....
they are gone.
Out the window , a dim reflection...looking at me... wondering if they'll be back after the storm passes.
"Fix a hot cup of Black English ...and wait"...... i tell myself.
Counting the thunder claps and rolls...
I wait.
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