At the turn of the human calendar, begins the new month
Our companions the crows fly, searching for a new home
They watch as we hunger, gaze deeply as we are stunned
Across the sky they linger, in winter skies they are alone
Cold leaves us moving slowly, our worries now expunged
In the Winter of time, I'll sleep and dream, long to be done
“We don't need the victim's entrails for their own sake, only for the sake
of the signs they convey. And we don't worship the crow or the raven --
we worship God who communicates by means of them.” Epictetus
