Tuesday, September 23, 2014
Evening of the Rain Crow
I heard the rain crow cooing
in the distance this evening,
as the sun sank crimson
and honking geese formed a wedge
behind the Shewbird Mountain.
He perches in barren oak
whose crisp leaves rustle golden
and brown to the frozen ground below.
I hear his shrill caw
resounding still through
chilled October quiet,
and know that by night
silver droplets will begin.
--Brenda Kay Ledford
This poem first appeared in Appalachian Heritage Magazine.
During the early 1900's, farmers in the Blue Ridge Mountains had no radios, televisions, iPhones, computers, no modern technology, to listen to the weather forecast. They depended upon the signs of nature including the rain crow or mourning dove cooing to predict rain.
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