Walked to Linden Hills Park
to watch the skaters
didn't hear the slap of hockey pucks
against the boards. Instead, I heard squawking
The large oak tree across the park was a
boiling mass of crows. The hugest black birds.

Not 4 and 20. Not even 40 and 20. More like 400 and 20!

They were seething on the treetop, yacking at each other,
Complaining, I guess. And loud! They sounded like the gratings
of walkie-talkies popping off messages.

I stood there, neck bent back, watching the crow tree. That is,
until I realized cars were slowing down to gawk at me
gawking at the crows.

Roiling mass of wings.
Raucus shrieks pierce icy air—
Winter calm—shattered.