FAIRY TALE

The Crow

A Fairy Tale about Song

Photo by Kevin Jackson on Unsplash

Note: This is a new revision of an old tale of mine.

Once upon a time, the crow was the most accomplished of all songbirds.

And he knew it.

And the world knew it.

Every day, and long into the evening, even after the sun had set and as the stars began to twinkle, you could hear him match their glitter note for note.

Families, at their evening meal, would stop eating, and make no noise with spoons and forks and plates — would even stop chewing — when he set out again in song, whether from afar or near, perhaps he would sit in their garden apple tree near the open window. And no one at table would say a word until the crow had finished his song — so enticing were his melodies, so pure his notes. Even the stars seemed to twinkle a little less while he sang, the better to hear.

Once done, the crow would shift slightly on his apple tree branch and cock his head in the direction of the candle-lit kitchen, the better to hear the silence softly cease by resumed movement of spoon to soup, of fork to mouth, and by the father praising to his children the song just sung.

And then he would, as often as not, spread his wings and roam the air for another meal to interrupt, for another…