and though morning came hot and full and ravens skimmed the blue nothing wings circling the tipping moon pale in the early sky – it was the evening that breathed us, night skin singing sweet with rain.
two raven call across an expanse of blue high above the valley – their long arc gyres drift closer together, until synchronised in flight and feather close, they spiral the infinite sky as one.
it is not like raven summoned the fog from the sea, cloaked the morning dark with damp, held the sun like a fragile egg between cool mist fingers, but her black wing laughter loud in that low sky woke the birds to spring remembered, claimed day from the salty tide. …
it was raven who stirred the sky this morning arcing dark wings in a far away sky as i walked up the hill tasting the road with my feet.