The Crow in The Cemetery

On Friday, Grandma H, Mom and I went to the cemetery where Grandma H’s parents and sisters are buried. Grandma H and I visit most weeks and try to tend to the graves in the spring.

This time we went to refresh the fake flowers on my great grandmother’s grave. It was a crisp spring day heading into early evening. The sun was still out but not as strong as it had been all day.

The breeze whipped Grandma H’s blouse around, so we didn’t stay too long. As we turned to go, we looked up in a pine tree. At the tippity-top sat a crow. Watching over us.

“Oh my goodness, look at the bird! It must be a sign,” Grandma H said.
The crow cawed back at her.
“Maybe it’s one of them letting us know they know we are here,” Mom said.
The crow cawed back at her.
I nodded. “Did Great Aunt M like birds?”
“Yes she did,” Mom said.
The crow cawed back at her.
“Maybe it’s her,” I said.

The bird stayed on top of the tree watching us until we opened our car doors. Then it suddenly took flight, swooping over our car and off into the sky.

As we pulled out of the cemetery, Mom said, “You know it was your Great Aunt J’s birthday today.”

You may not believe in signs, but on that particular afternoon, I did.

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