The Inherent Feminine Energy of Crows


Look at a crow, and think She.

Harried young woman who swoops past your door,
dark raincoat glistening as she bears the storm.

Weathered old crone with a twinkle in her eye, and her little girl,
eyeing your stall side by side at the market.

The ladies who all sit together, always, on the park bench;
shuffling their coats and sidling ever closer for gossip. 

Rich, soulful, throaty cackles.

She, indeed.

rosealice

VT

18 years old

More by rosealice

  • Motion

    There is a joy that comes with movement.
    a furious, feral delight 
    in the drum of the feet and the thrum of the heart, 
    each crashing against their respective anchors, in a desperate dance to be free. 
  • Web of continuity

    Time, sometimes, is like a silly little spider;
    a small, wandering thing, haunting my room in the latest early hours.

    And time, sometimes, can cause a stir. Crawl into the light, and unassumingly consume my every ounce of focus.