I see its shadow first. The shadow of the one with the big humped shoulders. The misshapen, distorted shadow flits across my open newspaper like a dark breath.
Then comes the cawing – a raucous cacophony. The sky is full of crows.
While the other crows circle and shriek, the hump-shouldered crow sits in the tree beside my chair, silent. Its eyes are blank and dull, its feathers mangy and moth-eaten, showing bald patches on its stomach and head. We stare at each other. I’m the first to look away.
The flock of crows takes off into the woods. Only the hump-shouldered crow remains. I Continue reading