Three Crows

Sunday was cold,
Still in the air a chill
From last week’s snow,
But enough sun to melt
The deep white patches down.

I stood in the back yard
Studying the leaf-strewn beds
By the high wooden fence.
There in the slanted sunlight
Clusters of snowdrops
Had reappeared,
Hearty white pearls
Suspended on green stalks,
Bright against the receding snow.

A squirrel descended,
Dancing down the fence cap
In leaps and bounds,
His mouth stuffed with
Late autumn leaves.
I watched him disappear
Into the neighbor’s tree,
Then up the side of his house
Into the eaves.

Suddenly the silence ended,
Broken by three crows
Alighting high up
On wispy budding branches
Of the tall silver maple
Beyond the weathered fence.

There they perched and squawked,
Black against the blue sky:
Winter intruders,
Unwilling to acknowledge
The sure coming of spring.

"Snowdrops" by Brian T. Maure

“Snowdrops” by Brian T. Maurer

Text and photo copyright 2013 by Brian T. Maurer