Butterflies and Crows (Revised)

In the time of before
when color emerged from grey,
and butterflies swayed, seeing
blue, green, red, and yellow,
when storms erupted, and branches grew
and everything had a counterpart
in nature’s art of fractals. The stars,
the sun and moon, the black of night and day’s light
kept earth balanced, though
a small-winged tipped could cause a shift,
but mostly that was righted.

Now ice drips, and winds drift
in wayward tempest gales,
the trees are split, their roots cry out
and mycelium networks ache as they transmit
arboreal dying sounds.

You dream of the past, you dream of now
and in your dreams, you understand

that crows carry wisdom’s key—they warn
with caws–

a telling, not a reprimand,
like Casandra, what they must do

even if their truths fly by,
even if nobody listens.

My photo fits…