Crows and rain

It rained hard yesterday and then the wind took over.  The trees are still silhouettes, no green, no colour, just twisted outlines along the side of the road.  The crows own the place and were riding the breeze, drifting from one tree to another, they’re huge black wings spread, they’re big, gnarled claws tucked up beneath them.  I wish I could take a picture of them flying, they are the guardians of the farmland around here!  

But, if I took a picture, all you would see would be a washed out black dot on a brown field and it’s not like that at all.  It’s the wind howling, the rich smell of the burgundy soil, the beautiful trees coming to life, the washed out sky with changing clouds, traces of old leaves gathering around a grey, wooden gate.  The castle woods of pine and oak.  Little farmhouses with streams of smoke winding out of chimneys and town lights in the distance.