As the crow flies. How odd. As if we fly in straight lines. The wind does not carry
our wings in only one direction. Stupid humans. Assuming that nature is so simple
minded as they are. Stupid, stupid.
            Blowing prairie grass. Blue truck. Farmer John. I know your name. You do not
know mine. You don’t see me. Only fear me. Hate me. So funny that you think your
scarecrow scares me. Crow. Not coward.
            I go by many names. Pest. Stupid bird. Damn crow. Go away. Shoo. On his
worst days, he calls me Come Back Here Again And I’ll Grab My Shotgun I
Swear To God. Long-winded. I wish he had a nickname for that one. Funny, it’s never Hello Crow. How are you Crow? Thank you for contributing to the circle of life Crow.
            Don’t worry Farmer John. I’m looking out for you, though you threaten to steal my life away. What is my crime? Existing. Perching on his fence. Can we not share? So territorial, humans. As if we were not both created by the same forces. I do not hold it against him. I know he does not understand.
            Poor Farmer John. Lonely Farmer John. I no longer see Farmess Elsie.
Farmess? Farmer? Crows do not concern themselves with the simple construct of
gender like they do. I shall call her Farmer. Equal. Crows are not stupid. Birdbrain, that is not true. We know death. I know where Farmer Elsie went away to. This is why I do not blame Farmer John for his anger.
            I miss Farmer Elsie. She was kind. Kind to Crow. Shared her Earth. Farmer John thinks nobody sees when he sits and waters her grave with his face water. Tears I believe they’re called. I see. Bird’s eye view, I see it all. He wonders why the flowers he leaves stay unharmed. Protected. Crow knows. Fights off the dangers to the fragile flowers. I visit Farmer Elsie as often as he does. Protector. Guard. Fearsome Crow.
            Oh, Farmer John. I am sorry. Do not hang your head so. I am here, though you do not turn to me for comfort.
            He sees me. Today is a very bad day. Today I am Grab My Shotgun. A
rock flies. What terrible aim. If I did not care for him so, it would please me to shit on his bald head. Hear him yell. Good luck washing that out. But crows do not seek
revenge. Take your anger out on me. I am not God, but you may curse me the same
way.
            I am flying now. Taking to the skies. Seeing for miles. Beautiful day to fly. I wish that I could take Farmer John to the skies. New perspective. Weightless. Free. I am a free bird.
            I follow Farmer John to Farmer House. Vulnerable humans, so affronted by the winds and the rains. I feel so sad for their need of such sturdy shelter. I enjoy watching Farmer John. Making his elaborate food. Washing his dusty clothes. I perch on his window when he does not see. Tonight, it is simple. Fried eggs. Toasted bread. Glass of milk. Strong bones, has Farmer John. Strong bones, strong arms. Weakening heart.
            He does not need to admit it. Crow knows. Crow always knows.
            Turn off your lamps, Farmer John. Retire to your rest. Kneel at the foot of your bed. Speak to your Creator. He is looking out for you, even when you do not turn to Him for comfort. Tuck yourself into bed. I will still be here tomorrow.
            Watching.
            Protecting.
            Goodnight Farmer John.

Jaila Jackson is a college student at Dickinson State University studying criminal justice and psychology who loves all things reading, writing and art.