Little Crow and Scare Crow

a fable.

“I am home, she thought, and stopped in wonder at the thought. I am home, I am home, she thought; now to climb.” —Shirley Jackson; The Haunting of Hill House

Little Crow perched atop the branch along with his brothers and sisters. Six, all in a row. Six crows fast asleep.

Little Crow did not like being asleep, his dreams were unpredictable. Envying his brothers and sisters he wondered if he’d get any sleep at all, ever.

“You need to rest, Little Crow.” His brother crooned.

“There’s a long journey ahead.” His sister said.

“Where are we going?” Little Crow asked.

None, however, answered.

The sky was bright, not at all what he liked, but he decided that a little flight might set him right.

And so, he flew. Straight at the sun. Right at the bright until the light started to bite. Warmth turned to heat. The air began to ignite. Just then, he fell. Fell out of flight.

He fell and he fell, ‘long and dreary.’ Until the ground met him ‘weak and weary.’ Cold and damp, his feathers ruffled. He heard stirs in the bushes, though muffled.

Suddenly, then, the stirs did stir more. Their pitch changed and Little Crow then heard a roar.

“Who is this?” the bush demanded. “Why have you come?”

“I’m sorry!” Little Crow answered. “But, I didn’t mean to…”

“Fall?” The bush completed. “You fell” it said once more.

“No.” said the Little Crow. “I didn’t mean to fall. I didn’t mean to come here, no. Not at all.”

“Well…” said the bush, “you’re here now. Let’s see what say the cow.”

“The cow?”

“Why, yes!” The bush commanded.

“Okay then” said the Little Crow “which way is she planted?”

“Planted? Oh, no. She is not tied. She is a roamer, a searcher, a bearer of the Eye.”

“The Eye?” Little Crow croaked. “Shouldn’t she have two?”

“Why, sure! Two is for certain. But, the third is the way through…”

A rustle began, the bush did shake. Its branches cracked, the leaves gave way. “Out from under,” as they say. Beneath the elder limbs, a little black cat stands on leaves now browned and crisp. With a stretch and a yawn, the cat’s gentle paws pad and prod.

“The path” it said, “may be arduous and, indeed,…odd.”

To be continued…