The Crow

Perched on the post not too far away sits the crow. The crisp autumn breeze scattering bountiful shades of orange against the cloudless blue. 

In the distance, lies a cobbled cottage, its reddened roof only a compliment against the season's waterless rain. The smoke gently puffing from its chimney.

The crow flies for a closer look as the leaves begin to settle along the ground, no longer being carried by the soft wind. 

The smell of warmth and spice drifting from the nearby windowsill. 

Approaching a branch outside the cottage, the crow lands. Eyeing the reason for the inviting smell, the crow lingers.

A woman crosses from within, rustling around to wipe clean the surfaces inside. She stops to take in the aroma of the pie, noticing the crow perched nearby.

They stare at each other for a moment, not a blink of an eye. The crow then flies off. 

Back the crow lands on his post not too far away, able to smell the warmth and spice only in the breeze. 

Watching the cottage, entranced in a dream. Oh, how he lives for the season.

Johanna V.