I spread the curtains wide to winter sunshine

and paused – as always - to absorb the sheer beauty

of my tall tree across the street

its black trunk writhing high with long groping branches

their twigs arching to myriad filigree.

 

A large crow arrowed into the neighbourhood

scoping the street - big, black and bold.

It dropped confidently into  my tree

very high up

and the branch BROKE!

The bird tumbled ass over apple cart

flapping fiercely

spewing twigs like snapped spaghetti.

 

My soft heart gasped, 'Oh! I hope it's not hurt.'

But my hard head yelped, 'Oh! How funny!'

And I laughed and laughed and laughed.

 

It finally fumbled to balance

and took off

much faster than its flight in.

I couldn't tell whether it scanned for witnesses, or not

but if it did – TOO BAD! TOO LATE!

 

Such moments – ya gotta luv 'em.

But I'm a wee bit nervous now.

What if I saw somebody slip on a banana peel?

I might laugh before I could catch myself.

A fall like that could cause severe injury

not the least bit funny.

And THAT brings up the whole business of Comedy.

What exactly is Comedy, especially Black Comedy?

And - Why Do We Laugh? How do we laugh!

These spasmodic air expulsions - just a primate thing?

etc. etc. etc.

But I really don't want to get into analysis right now.

Enough to savour my gloriously guilty moment

And wish the crow God Speed.

 

 

Cynthia Buell Thomas

Feb., 2017