Knowing she was sad, eleven crows arrived with gifts: delicate feathers chips of quartz and granite, short lengths of red and yellow yarn, crumpled bits of paper all colorful, some shiny with beef tallow others sticky and vanilla-scented. How did they know? she wondered as they littered her winter green lawn with their offerings, creating a mosaic as vibrant as a Van Gogh night … Continue reading Knowing she was sad, eleven crows
