Photo by Aditya Vyas on Unsplash

So often you perch in the great pine
but do not stay, leave immediately.
Today you have chosen to come down,
ink splash on spring-green grass beside
the pine.
I love the sigh of breath I breathe,
that draws you in and calms my world.

Today you are joined by companions,
ink drops falling, splash!
Ink means communication,
so what are you saying?
strutting, inspecting the ground
so closely,
one or more lifting into the pine
opening the authority of crow beak
to call out far and wide.
Is there a message in that call that
tells other creatures your jugement
on what you find,
tell tree and rock, and the black bear
trolling a nearby hill.

When you flex the wonderful muscles
of your wings and lift away
from the grass, I sigh again
facing the banality of breathing
when you are gone.