I was thinking back to something strange I had seen a while ago, I charmingly called what I had seen that day the Burial of a Crow. A murder of crows were in front of my path in the forest one morning, It was a strange sight, normally they would be nesting in the trees. I cautiously approached them, my curiosity guiding my eyes along the path, In the middle of the gathering, lay a corpse prostrate and motionless. No doubt it was one of their own. I had not noticed this detail yet, Though many ravens had been gathered, no sound came from the group. It was as if they were mourning as you and I mourn the loss of a loved one. Those birds understood the bitter kiss that death had given their brother, I dared not continue my way along the path, it was as if we agreed to be reverent. Days passed and I would look around the area that the body was laid. No black bird in sight, there were bugs, berries, bushes, and ...