Having escaped the town my feet pad along The lonely road. Ice oozes between The grey cobblestones of cracked macadam Into a quilt of puddles. Phony warmth Of February makes me slosh around. Ebony patches peek through ivory snow Awaiting the spring planting. A crow screams Atop a wire, his cries accusing me Of tramping through the Thumb's Snow covered woods, barely able to walk So bundled in layers and heavy boots, But the canopy of oak and maple Kept out the heavy snow; so I followed Not far behind, shuffling my little steps To your long strides, over stumps and through streams To a clearing where we crouched behind some brush. A call brought black flocks circling above us. The shotgun popped, not an expected blast; A shadow crumpled, fluttering, falling To land softly. Like a good retriever I found the game when the shooting had ceased. Death rolled back the crow's eyes, four points of red Stained the blackness shivering with the wind. We left the bird for the foxes to feast on. I see this maverick above me now, The two of us alone. He cries again, This time pleading with me to stay with him. A gust whips across snowy fields as I Quicken my pace to return home to friends.