The Widow Wyile watches
the unfolding of
this momentary tableau 

One black crow
perched on the red shed roof
piled with snow

Sudden flurry of action
walking along the crest
dipping for a frozen drink
sinking a path            belly deep
flying off         retrieving handsome morsel
from a nearby mound of white

A second contender arrives
cawing
elaborately folds wings atop a nearby tree 

Still silent on the gable peak
black beak secures the icy repast
black wings spread across slightly stirred snow
lift crow off the red shed
fly to feast elsewhere               undisturbed

leaving
still trees
falling flakes
memory of winged black purposefulness
and the intruder’s voice