“Caw, caw.”
The call rends the air, leaving it fresh and urgent. My mind drains, revealing an alertness towards the bottom that rises from the depths. My eyes hyperfocus on the black slash of the crow’s wings against the blue of the sky. It must be writing a message, but all I get is a drop of saliva arcing from my open mouth and weird looks from my fellow humans.
He lands on a high branch with another “Caw, caw,” and looks right at me, as if to share greetings and gripes between species. I don’t want to insult him by cawing back, but want to acknowledge this in some way, so I smile and take off my cap. He rustles his feathers.
Apologies form in my mind about what we are doing to his natural environment. He seems to respond with, “Don’t worry about my kind, we can adapt to change better than you two-leggeds.”
Was that a warning? Would we really leave behind a ravaged world devoid of humans, yet with birds still flying and feeding and calling?
I swear the crow cocks his head then turns away to signal the end of our conversation, short as it was. Flying off, his black shape is etched in my after vision. A single “Caw” fades into the air.