February 14, Wednesday

 It’s a day to remember for Love at least. A day to forget if I stay awake any more. I have thoughts of black feathers floating down, matted into the ground. Crows cawing, aware that one of their own has lost its flight. Mourning the loss. A loss, that at one time was spared by a thin 10 year old human, one whose eyes looked right through you to other side. Accepted by the flock as one of them. A boy who cared for his family, brought wood to the house from the front lawn, who turned it into pieces and flecks and sticks that could finally heat the house. The crows filled their nest with small sticks, sat and waited for the eggs to hatch. Do both the male and female care for their nest? One of the ladies in my group reminded me of the fact in her world, crows are the messengers. 

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