Kunst Judith McCune

Was it because at last I cleaned the window that he threw himself against the glass? I thought, poor crow— he doesn't know the evergreens and blue sky are behind him. I turned back to my page but whumpp — the bird attacked the glass again. His long claws scuffled at the pane and I yelled "Crow! Go away!" Again his body slapped the glass, again and then again, and then at last he caught my eye— oh, prophet, terrified.