hard-won warmth

By missT

(The One Who Came Back With the Crows)

Someone came back today,
the way a crow returns
to an empty field
quiet, watchful,
circling slow
over ground
they once unsettled.

They left no sign,
only a cold brush of air
on the old gate latch,
light as a hand
that changed its mind
a reminder
that winter never forgets
what it has taken.

The trees said nothing.
The hedges kept still.
Even the wind
held its breath,
as if the countryside
knew better now
than to welcome
a wandering shade.

I watched from the briars,
still as stone,
feeling only
the steady pulse
of the life I’ve built
a hard-won warmth
I will not trade
for sorrow.

Yet still they circled
a dark feather turning
against the pale sky,
searching for a path
into a place
that isn’t theirs anymore.

Let the crows keep watch.
Let the night mind its own.
Some who return
come only as echoes,
testing old doors
the nettles claimed,
and the years
quietly closed.