Oracles and Omens

fall cedars

The gray of November
settled into the folds of the hills,
tamping down the brightly colored leaves
into fog and dark mists.

The crows cried out in greeting
when your footsteps were heard on the path-
black feathered messengers-
oracles of your return.

As in a dream,
their cries echo across the hillside,
shouting your name
until I saw your face
and I knew.

Keepers of tales and omens,
tricksters and thieves,
the crows steal my heart
tying it in the old dead hickory
to wave and tatter
in the wind.

4 thoughts on “Oracles and Omens

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