There was a massive crow stood on the branch
of the recently blossomed tree
outside my living room window today.
A right plump bugger just
pecking at leaves, not pecking at leaves,
pecking at leaves, not pecking at leaves.
Watching it potter about with no plan of action
was relaxing. It was my personal feathered
stress ball on pipe cleaner legs.
Thirty seconds in to me watching it,
the crow froze still and looked up.
Its eyes stayed fixed on the endless blue.
I imagined it dreaming of painting shapes
across the sky canvas with the bristles of its wings.
And then it pooped down to Earth.

© Carl Burkitt 2020