the magpie’s call this morning was different. Mournful, it felt like he was calling me. Most mornings, my magpies pull the dawn over the horizon with their songs, echoing from one tree to another as the four of them take up the melody at different points. Today was different. One mournful call.
And then the hail came, and the winds.
Snug inside, I put a barley pilaf on the stove.