Lit Up
Published in

Lit Up

The Call of the Crow

I see the crow and quickly look away.

I hear the incessant “caw, caw, caw” and I want to place my hands over my ears and hum the words to a happy song. But nothing comes to my lips.

The crow is black. The crow is foreboding.

Is the crow death?

In the river bottoms, the crows come in packs, swooping low over the harvested fields, the broken stalks of…

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Michael Banks

Michael Banks

Writer I Editor I Bourbon Sipper I At work on debut novel I Visit me at michaelbanks360.com I Buy me a drink at https://michaelbanks360.medium.com/membership