We Have the Same Commute

The sun is beginning to rise as I approach the bike kiosk. The crows are already flying out from the east where they roost at night. Their black bodies speckle the sky, their caws fill the air.

We head in the same direction: the southwest. As I drive along the ridge, they follow a diagonal line arcing away from me.

But as I reach my destination, our paths cross again.

The final stragglers call out overhead as I push my bike into the dock.

Sketchbook page of crow silhouettes and a close up of a crow.