It is pouring rain in Oregon this afternoon,
the leaves have all gone gold and the mountains are all awash in mist
. . . over the top of the sound of the storm, the splash of the rain and
the wind sighing hugely through the pines . . . I can hear the crows calling
from tree to tree . . .
Corvidophilia (The Love of Ravens)
Gray rain whips the world with wind
Do you wake up drinking darkness,
They say you are a trickster, but it is wisdom
They will find your feathers
And You . . .
As it breaks beneath you . . .
Black eyes blaze brilliant with
Edwina Peterson Cross October 19, 2004