Crow Feather

August 7, 2011
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and the smell of crushed pine cones was so strong it made the whole world feel sharper, like glass

dull colored leaves crunched under our feet

I imagined them all to be Cinderellas who had been

just for a moment, colorful&bright&perfect;

then I only stepped on rocks and you laughed at me and called me silly.

I loved it though, the way you threw your head back and put your hands on your knees, your eyes crinkled

your laugh echoed off the mountains it was so loud and

happy it made me want to sing,

all the birds cried out in surprise and flew away over our heads

so many of them they covered the sky for a moment

just the downy blanket of soft crow's wings, the silence seemed so loud after that

you took my hand, it was so big it covered all of mine and I felt the calluses and strength of it until your hand was so warm I pulled away;

you looked sad so I twisted around you and took your other hand.

sometimes it's like trying to remember a long-forgotten dream,

trying to remember these times;

other times I can hold a

pine cone,

an inky black crow feather,

and I can hear your laugh still echoing in my head.

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