there are five crows this morning. they are eating something that tried to cross the road. I want to know (a cat, a raccoon) but there is too much traffic. I only see black. black swirling, black diving — black tearing red. suddenly, the murder explodes. black flies into the air disturbed, interrupted. a crow leaps across my car; his feathers leave trails on the dusty hood. he peers through my windshield, looks me in the eye. he opens his big onyx beak. I hear him say no, don’t look. you don’t want to know.
just keep driving.