Crows in the Fog

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Unseen in the tall redwoodsnear the parking lot, morning crows rasp out domestic sounds. Each fine needle combs and drips with fog. The air smells of dawn and water. With their invocation the crows invite the distant sea, the smell of cedars, invent wooded mountains, cornfields on valley floors rustling their brown leaves, instruct in the auras of the crow world and its increasing interruptions - what we do.

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