Category Archives: Slice of Life

A Grove of Crows

I come by my love of black-feathered birds naturally.  Long before I knew that my Danish maiden name literally translates to “crow grove”, as a child I would spend hours watching and listening to the raucous birds in the trees around me.

My goodness, they are smart birds.  My fascination with them has only grown into admiration as time has gone on.  At my favourite beach, I have a friend I call Charles; he used to come to sit on a sign post when he saw my car each day.  Unfortunately COVID-19 has disrupted this ritual, along with so much else.  I was sad when I didn’t see him there yesterday.

Today as I sat writing at my desk, I had a feeling I was being watched.  A glance out the window showed me why: a crow was sitting in the branches of the nearby tree, looking in at me — or, more accurately, at my lunch.

His (her?  their?  I didn’t want to presume) head cocked back and forth.  I smiled and shrugged helplessly, gesturing to the window between us.  With a disgusted caw, the bird gave one last head tilt and took off for less-daft human company.

The chances of it being my friend Charles are very slim.  (I live nearly 8 km / 5 miles from the beach, as the crow flies.)

But let’s pretend anyway.


This post was created as part of Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life Challenge

You can view other writers’ contributions via the comments here.

Tonight

Tonight
I am "worded out,"
after a two-hour class,
and a long day, and a
Migraine that refused to die.

I want to write brilliant things,
but I just don't have it in me.
The words won't come,
and no amount of London Fog tea
will coax them out of the shadows.

So I shall have to be satisfied with this:
An experiential lesson in being human.

 


This post was created as part of Two Writing Teachers’ March Slice of Life Challenge.

You can view other writers’ Day 9 contributions via the comments here.

A Bird in the Hand

The minutes are ticking away, and the clock shows me that I’m running out of time.  I am so proud of my Slicing streak (even if I’m not doing as well as I’d like on the commenting side), but I’m in danger of losing it now.

My gaze flutters around my desk, looking for something — anything — to write about.  Then I spot it: the small, wooden bird that I purchased for five bucks on a Facebook yard sale group.

I pick it up; it’s light, like the chickadees that land in my hand for black oil sunflower seeds up at the park.  It’s pine, I think, and I can see subtle marks from the knife that whittled it, and the gradations of shading in the grain.

I’m not sure what made me send the message (“Is this still available?”), but I needed to bring it home.  To hold its tiny, grained body in my hand, as the one who had created it surely did.

I wonder at the pointed beak, and marvel that it didn’t accidentally fall prey to the knife.  A tiny miracle of care.

 


This post was created as part of Two Writing Teachers’ March Slice of Life Challenge.

You can view other writers’ Day 8 contributions via the comments here.