Convergence

Today, it was
the cunning crows’ turn.

Just enough ice to hold them.

Slipping claws,
beaks peck,

for scavengers
on the hunt,

no rest.

Intelligence in black silky sheen,
a cocked head, crafty beings.

Lake surface usually
reserved for ducks, geese.

But in the cold of winter,
open to anything with feet.

A murder

converges.

~ EC

1.8.17

*All photos by me.

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