photo by Julien Laurent via Unsplash
Feathers flutter in the wind – a parade of crow’s wings, a pair nailed to each fence post, blue black dancing over the churned earth.
Daw knows the farmer who owns the land, who shoots the crows. Grover his name is. The man never could bear to see anything beautiful fly, his instinct always to capture, to cage, to kill.
Grover had a wife didn’t he? Nancy. Not seen her for a long while.