Rooks

One by one

Take

(Or Fake)

Shelter

In bare branches

Exposed to Winter winds.

But all at once

It’s more than one.

A handful,

A bunch

A swarm,

The sky turned

From fountain pen blue

To charcoal black.

Together,

Their feathers,

Sweep the air like a strong chill breeze,

Their throaty calls like a record skipping,

Saying over and over,

That the cold is here to stay for longer than you feared;

Until the hares,

Spring loose

From the woods,

Race towards you,

And chase and box

The cold from their bones.