Poetry, Nature, Consciousness
A Sudden, Blinding Brightness
A crow poem

Those baby crows, raised, this spring, amidst a cacophony of cawing and a riot of scaffolding in the pines, are grown.
Their feathers sleek with autumn’s light, they now glide into the sun-warmed vortex of air rising up to heaven,
whatever that is.
It might look different to a crow than it does to you or me.
A freedom of wing. A breath of blue. A sudden blinding brightness.
I might have seen it too — the blind launch into the unknown at the apex of an incline with the sun in my eyes and the dust motes dancing through the fingers of light reaching through the desiccated hay.
In moments like those, you know that the trail goes on, you just have to believe it.
Depending on wind speed and drafting, those crows might pop out of that spiral before they reach the top. Oftentimes, it’s to chase a solitary hawk who’s braved the murder —
that’s what they call them, you know, a gathering of crows, a murder.
I never understood the name until I saw them turn on a red-shouldered raptor.
They once ate the baby ducklings too, those newborn puddles of fluff and fleshy paddles following their mother around in my pool.
But that’s the way of it, I suppose.
Those crows were also babies, and those hawks did stalk their nest.
Perhaps they remember.
Probably, they don’t.
Or maybe they only know, as I did this morning, when I gasped for breath at the summit of canyon and was launched into the gilded oyster sky,
that life is like this:
A freedom of wing. A breath of blue. And a sudden blinding brightness as we enter or leave this world behind.
I suppose the ducklings saw it too.






