One For The Crows

The yellow grass crackled under my feet. It was the kind that stayed perpetually crunchy, even in the lushest of springs.

“Hello,” I said meekly as I came to a stop right in front of it, “I thought you might like a little company.”

The hare-crow gave no reply. I found myself relieved that it had not spoken back, as if that were a reasonable thing to fear in the first place.

“You looked lonely. And cold. So I came to give you this.”

I shrugged the jacket from my shoulders and stood on my tiptoes to affix it to his branchy ones.