The grass, the crows
are monochrome
a study in grey dreariness
difficult to distinguish
in the rain mist
So many of them,
and ravens too,
reveling, wiggling, rolling
in the grassy sogginess
cackling happily,
they flutter feathers
in watery abandon
I watch them waddle
preen themselves clean
the rain is their friend
and I am the intruder
the voyeur
the crow spy,
sneaking a peek
into their bath
uninvited
I did not even think
to knock
Helen Bar Lev
