There is a farm widow, who lives far out in the woods,

with an old horse, a goat and an ancient dog,

who saw a crow fall from a tree, crippled,

and he would never let her touch him, or come hear him,

but if she took a large bird cage

out in the field, and left a can of cat food, he would appear in it

every morning, and eat the food and hobble or fly away,

she was not sure which.

But he always kept the open crate between himself and her,

and she respected that, as he was a wild thing, a spirit of the world,

and rarely seen or considered up close.

Every day for weeks, she left the food in the open cage,

and the crow would come and eat it, and heal himself,

and find his way out,

and most days he comes to the crate still, to watch over her,

and thank her, and once in awhile, she leaves some food,

and she told me that if I came and sat quietly, I could take his photo,

and he would tell me some of the secrets of the world,

and one day I came with my camera and sat by the crate,

and while I was looking away, he suddenly appeared,

and was calm and curious,

and penetrated my soul with his piercing gaze,

and whispered to me that life was good, and life was precious,

and that I needed to be strong,

and that magical helpers and spirits in the form of animals – dogs

and donkeys, and crows, and sometimes, even the humble chicken,

would lead me on my path, and I took a dozen pictures, as he watched me

curiously, and tilted his head, then, when I looked up to get

one last photo, he was gone.

Oh, said the farm widow, he will be back.

 

On Facebook, a photo album of the crow.