Murder of Crows

Scattered atop 

crowns of tall trees,

count reveals nearly

 thirty crows.

Black commas, 

rhythmic and ominous,

stark silhouettes in

 bare branches.

Twilight chorus chills the veins,

bearers of foreboding news; 

more snow to come.

Cooper’s Hawk sweeps into view,

majestic wingspan, 

circles around noisy birds.

All burst, as one, into the deep blush of a winter’s sky.

Rush of wings, fierce complaining.

Moments pass, blessed quiet.

Horn blast splits the air…fades out.