Let me never be far from a crow

 or their murder.  Never.  Never.  

Winter Solstice

As the longest evening settles in, the grandmother tree unfurls a canopy of leaves like a freshly washed sheet.  A smidgeon of moon becomes a modest beacon for the first bird to arrive in this new year.  Most likely a crow with a message.  Listen.  Please.  

In this moment

                                                                   one can only hope.

The essence of hopscotch

A tad incomplete but the concept intact.  Which small stone will you use as a marker?  Who goes first, you or the crow?

magic

 is

measured

by

speed

of

color

blinking

or

when

a 

crow

sneezes

or 

when

night

tangos