Outside my second story window
the local murder of crows
settle among my trees.
Perched in clumps of five or ten
along branches of silver maple, birch,
and directly outside my window,
in the Rowan tree.
bobbing up and down,
calling out imagined insults or directions.
The cacophony drives me to take out my camera
to capture their show.
Snow is falling.
A white polka dotted curtain masks their many faces.
Black bodies create graphic bird shaped splotches
along the edges of the vertical lines of dark tree branches
rising upwards towards the gray skies.
In the white birch two birds sit closely together.
The one on the right leans towards the other.
He strokes the her head gently with his beak.
She sits still.
Accepting his sweet caresses.
He is tender and patient.
I cannot see if she lifts her face to him.
The falling white snow obscures their intimacy.
Two lovers among the crowd of gawking onlookers.