Morning Mist Crow

The Breakfast Bunch polished up the dog kibble I'd spread on the Crow Board, then dispersed into the fog to take up various positions in Clyde's yard, hopeful for a presentation of the dessert menu. Some perched on treetops or branches, some patrolled the ground. Some wiser folk selected fenceposts where they could keep a watchful eye on both feeding stations in case I happened to bring out seconds as I sometimes do. Thin dawn light gave a blush to the mist, rendering the canvas of an August morning into a natural monochrome, and this Crow's Eye was drawn to one young sentinel who profiled himself against the pasture. "Caw!" he said as I closed the door, and when I turned around, he'd flown off to join the growing gathering of his kindred somewhere out of my line of sight. Clyde must have put out something tasty.

And with this image, Monochrome 52 concludes. I hope you have enjoyed this brief foray into a world seen through the Crow's Eye. Thank you for visiting!

Summer's End

The Mountain is weary of summer. The glorious mantle of snow has fallen from the shoulders in an unseemly manner, exposing grimy ice and wrinkled rock. It is an elderly Mountain we see at the end of summer, an old woman in a tattered night-dress; we intrude upon the privacy which her age and dignity should allow her. We are not meant to see her thus. A week or two, a second of geologic time, and she will wreathe herself in frosted lace and satin, again elegant and presentable before her guests.