The dust settles quickly beneath the wings of the crow,
dancing proudly on the cold-as-concrete ground.
He did the best he could.
He watched ceremoniously at the fields below,
burning by the hand of another stupid human.
The flights he took.
A silhouetted figure passes by quietly, swiftly.
He doesn’t move. Brazen.
“What won’t you humans do for a little revenge?” he cawed.
He bows his head, eyes closed.
A gunshot rings out, and all the fields for miles lay burning.
But the scarecrow at the foot of the hill stood tall. Brazen.