Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes

I close my eyes and listen to the sounds that crows make,
serious and playful, graveling and intense;
sounds that come from a primordial place.

I listen to the silence between their calls.
I try to make sense of their world
as I sit at the edge of my bed
just before the sun rises.

One crow caws five times,
waits for a response and within seconds
another crow echoes out,
a ripple in a vast pool of water
as hundreds of crows cry all at once
like a symphony in the trees.

Speaking a language that they only know
before they start their daily routine,
warning of predators, locations of food,
where they could find a stable vine
to rest upon.

When my friends scatter from the trees,
my morning meditation ends.
Forever to be mindful of the crow.