crows

I was in the bedroom of the house that my family built and lived in throughout my teenage years. The wall between my sister’s room and mine was not there—it was one large space with windows on three sides. It was very early in the morning, around dawn, and I was lying in bed, gazing out the window, watching some crows that were flying outside. I observed the shape of their wings as they flew, the outline of their feathers against the sky, spread out and scalloped. I noticed the shape of their feet, tucked back and blown about a little by the wind. I admired the jet crows and the azure sky.
I decided to take some photographs using a zoom lens and moved across the room to another window where the crows were now circling. I aimed the camera, focusing on the crows, but as I looked through the eyepiece, they moved out of focus and seemed to be coming toward me. I looked without the camera and they had flown to me and were sitting on the window sill, eyeing me curiously and looking around the bedroom. I closed the window enough that they couldn’t get through the narrow gap, but I liked their presence. I then noticed some cows that were mulling around at the edge of a grassy reserve down below the house. I pointed the camera at them, zooming in to take some close up photographs. Upon zooming in, I could see that the cows had very unusual patchwork hides in appealing shades of creamy pink, light brown, sand and mud white, and they were slightly elongated or abstracted in shape. I photographed the cows.
The crows circled in the sky once more and I enjoyed watching them quietly.