full crow moon

We sped down inky black route 7, unfurling before us unto the hillside dotted with lights. The full yellow moon hung low, kissing shadowy buildings. This March moon, the full crow moon, should be heralding the return of spring, but the air is still full of icy chills and dangerous precipitation. If March comes in like a lion and out like a lamb, this night is shaking its mane and stretching its terrible maw, unready to release time from its clawed paw.

I reached my hand over to his and gripped it tight. His speeding car clings to curves and races through the darkness to deliver us home.

The mysterious feminine gravity of the full black crow moon draws earthworms to wriggle up from below. They release their shells and dive into the dirt that’s just waiting to be churned up. Roots awaken, buds are blinking, waking up after a long slumber.

The caws of the corvus brachyrhynchos, the american crow, echo through empty parks and streets. Their nervous chatter follows unsuspecting pedestrians up and down the alleys and one way streets of Troy. These birds are smart, ever-present, multitudinous and anonymous.

But they know you.

They know your face, habits, and haunts. Their keen eyes cut through your aura and have communicated the secrets you didn't know you had to the murder before you've had time to blink.

corvus ilium

the urban bird

sophisticated stalking

those caws that you heard

corvus ilium,

the trojan crow,

hatch murders above

and brood murders below