As the Crow Flies

I hail a passing crow,
count fare for
two tickets.
"Three thousand,
two hundred
and two miles west
as the crow flies,
if you please."
The feathered one
points a wondering wing
at Spouse and I,
at our belongings
which sleep snugly
on our backs.
"Just the one way?"
Our pilot is curious.
His beak gleams-
in it I see reflected
our journey faces,
our adventure faces,
long shut away
to gather quiet dust.
The bird
surmises his passengers,
shuffles his feet,
fluffs his coat of black.
"We're wanderers,"
explains Spouse.
"It's hard to keep still
in an enormous world."
"I see," nods our crow.
"Pastures greener,
and all that."
Spouse and I
scramble aboard
the obliging crow's back.
Up, up.
The fields and fences,
the twisted roads
that led to friends,
all evaporate underwing.
A fragment of history
-ours, brief-
we carry with us
only the best parts;
the rest falls away
as it should,
as the crow flies.

-TheElementary




Note:
I'll be writing only occasionally over the next couple of weeks as Spouse and I try to get organised and make our way to California.
I intend to be back on track and on regular writing schedule by the middle of August, with a fresh batch of Crumbs From the West - I mean Corner.
Stay tuned for more woolgathering!