A crow
jabs
his beak into the
ground
until he pulls
up
a piece of fruit.
He hops
and flaps
silken wings,
flies
into a tree
picking and gulping
his red prize.
I stand beneath
not two feet away
in awe of his shining plumage
mesmerized by his motions.
He’s content
to let me watch
but I want so badly
to touch
that feathered head.
I pull out a camera
to trap him in a frame
but in the second it takes me
to lift it to my eye
he hops
and flies
to another tree
seeking other company,
those of like feather.
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