Nothing Happens Here that The Crows Don’t Know

2015-09-27 07.24.01Thank You Letter from a Magpie

In velvet mornings and indigo nights
when handfuls of diamonds twinkle so bright
then the dew rolls a carpet that makes the grass glow
and nothing happens here that the crows don’t know.

From the top of the field he admires the view
in the woods his steps resound there too
up the hill memories ’round the white birch flow
and nothing happens here that the crows don’t know.

In the house itself where the story lives on
from the Highlands of Scotland to the Native wisdoms
we gather, we eat, we unburden our souls
because nothing happens here that the crows don’t know.

From the labyrinth in the trees and the fields galore,
the quilts, the pond, the little house — and so much more
never quite perfect and yet always so:
and nothing happens here that the crows don’t know.

Thank you!

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2 responses to “Nothing Happens Here that The Crows Don’t Know

  1. Kate,
    Did you write that poem? I love it!!!! I tried to print it so I could tape it to my wall but couldn’t get it in the write format, even to copy and paste. Of course, I could re-write it, but maybe I’m doing something wrong. I just love it!

    Sheree

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