Crow Crosses the Moon

Grandfather finally heard him… 

the crow, squawking in the twilight, that night he could hear again

Today, I saw him flying just across the newly waning Moon 

In the morning daylight, sky filled with blue

There are lots of old crows in my life

Moments of nostalgia, of regret

moments of desire to be between lines on the highway

those places I haven’t met just yet

The mountain comes to mind, I used to call my home

An old crow lives there. A hermit, a giggler, free to roam.

He beckons me sometimes, I revisit those old lives

I heed the call sometimes, in search of starlight time

But finding solace in the gravel, in the fearless doe’s eyes

Inside what used to be pain, newfound serenity belies 

Up there, amongst the endless trails

The crows, they laugh and sing

in droves, which song?

Which melody? Something, certainly, is stirring

Only once did I hear an owl, what kind I couldn’t tell

the lone mountainside cried, under some kind of ancient spell

The trees up there, gnarled from incessant winds

Loom over the ground, so rocky, my hands would often skim

The bright green ramps litter early Spring, 

Deep, crimson trilliums, spring beauties, and turk’s cap blossom shortly, to miss this magic feels simply like a sin

Beech trees and old hills of yore

They have seen many lives and grown many more

I dream of visitation, no longer of a life

But when from a crow, a glimpse of wildness, a journey I must expedite