Twin Crows

Two crows perched huddled close on a bough up the big tree swaying with the winds blowing from the west.

The whole canopy rose and fell and you heard the heaving of the tree like the deep-breasted breath of a bodybuilder pumping weights.

Everything was strong and robust this morning, the sky a translucence of dissipating white clouds vast and spreading, only in the east in patches showing blue brilliance, the sun hiding and peeping out, softening and setting alight the street and the buildings, breathing light and shadow.

And the twin crows perched huddled close, their beaks sunk against the fluff of their breasts, eyes closed in the sharing of warmth, dancing with the bough bobbing in the wind, oblivious of everything else but the sharing of each other’s warmth and the listening to of each other’s heartbeats, never losing the perch, as though this moment was the beginning and the end and this dance the only thing.

A car honked and a truck hurtled past along the street raising a cloud of dust in quick twisting spirals blown dissipating away by another gust of wind.

The wind and the sun and the honk of the car and the hurtling sound of the truck and the two crows with their swinging dance on the bough under the heaving canopy of the tree seemed the totality of something inexplicable this morning.

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