Calling in the Crows
Written years ago on my relocation to the city from the sanctuary of my country retreat in Aberdeenshire and missing my crows.
Hear my voice in your cold dark dawn
frosty branches and purple streaked sky.
heads removed from covering wing.
Come now, to this small city dwelling.
Fly above the cliffs and the barren cornfields,
majestic architecture and city churches.
Let me hear your noisy ponderings
as to the reason for your summons
in adjacent bleak trees,
devoid now of foliage,
trusting in seasons.
Sloping down to the river
flowing always flowing…
no matter what the day
En-masse, your precious black bodies
reminiscent of *Armadale
talk to me beyond words,
Become a covert shield,
A dark place of re-connection;
Come now with comfort
and tales of new tomorrows on your beaks;
Petitioned from the steel horizon
by one who loves to hear your stories.
Cover me in blue black feathers,
share your beating hearts with me.
among your squawking chaos.
Alison Stormwolf, 2011
*Armadale Name of the cottage.