Ornery as hell

Ornery as hell, they have yet to meet a wind chill that
can bully them. After all, they are the town’s ruffians.
While the rest of us huddle indoors with chilblains,
there they are—out in parking lots, on the ice,
navigating through a gale, insulated against the cold
by their meanness alone. Raucous partiers in warmer
weather, dominating whatever playground they find
themselves on, we find them disreputable, a nuisance
that should be dealt with. But come bitter January,
defiance of the laws of nature is applauded. Although
their cacophony offends, we appreciate the song
when silence dominates the dawn. A black stain
that winter’s wind cannot erase from its white blouse,
the crows’ insolent comportment wins our respect.


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