Crows

I woke up to dumping rain- the kind that splashes against windows, fills gutters, thunders on rooftops. It was definately a Max day, as the highway is scary in this kind of rain and getting to work takes even longer than the train. The ride felt warm, uncomforatbly so. I wriggled out of rain coat, hat, scarf, and lodged the umbrella between the seat and the wall. I smudged a little peep hole in the steamy window to allow me a view of lights passing, the river an eerie black snake below. The gray slowly began to replace dark. When I emerged, crows filled the air, resting on stark trees and talking loudly with one another. I was reminded of an artist who makes jewelry that I covet, and of the east in the spring when the snow melts and the crows dominate the slowly emerging sodden fields. I watched a robin wrestle a worm out of the ground, and truly delighted in the common birds, who, for all their familiarity, posess a deep spookiness in the foggy wet winter morning.