I was sitting on the porch in late June agreeing wholeheartedly with everything the backyard had to say when I felt a nibble at my mind. It was crow, staring at me, wondering if I had any silver rings or olive forks for him today, or any teeth. Regrettably I did not. Whether crows can tell us apart or if we’re as indistinguishable as one cloud from another to them I couldn’t say, but we sat in companionable silence, exchanging the occasional nod.


I thought of something and invited crow up to the attic. It was hot as an oven. We tore through box after box, tossing yellow newspaper over our shoulders until crow found the silver angel that goes on top of the tree. That’s what crow chose to take.


That next Christmas I found a gold tooth gleaming in the snow on the back porch.

Published by Randy B Tudor