The old witch crow with silver at her sides landed safely under cloud of cover on the snow blanket field of grass, Star dust as her guide.
There she changed her skin to fit in a place she’d only seen.
The little witch rabbit with silver tuffs above her big ears a little worn of the years of digging pathways for the young and the old to places everyone souls should go. She stood tall and bright with force and hidden might, cloaked with natures age green, black, and, grey. Her bag she carried dropping eggs here and there in realms unimagined where water doesn’t flow.
The bluebirds started nesting in front of the little rabbit with silver tuffs above her big ears. The sounds all around, the target practice with bird songs spinning the air around the small town. It could have been the year 1894 in a couple places give or take something more.
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