'Crows' by Stan Smith


Crows!  Hurtling down the steep plunging path, I shout at the birds pecking at my backpack.  Those evil beaks and eyes ignore me and their claws remain sharp on the bag’s top compartment. 

We had left the backpacks briefly in the gulley to hike up Cathedral Peak, no one was around.  However we hadn’t thought about these scavengers, they know we have food in there.  Returning from the summit the adrenaline of the triumph instantly vanished once we could just make out that there was movement by our tiny pile of backpacks.  The pile was under attack.  It’s ok, the food inside is safe behind thick canvas, birds beaks can’t open zips …can they?...they can!  Stop thaaat!  My screams are just air and the rummagers pull the guts out of my bag.  Plastic bags are blown away by wind and the burglars drop t-shirts like trash.   

My friends behind me up the hillside laugh as I scarecrow towards the gulley.  The crows just peck and pull, they know I’m harmless.

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