The Raven

The raven walked up the handrail to where he would hop onto the low
branch of the tree. He turned around, cocked his head, then looked at
me. A drop of rain fell on his beak. He shook it off and then he glanced
toward the sea. A wall of rain was coming our way so he walked deeper
into the tree. Me? I got as wet as I could be.

by Alyce M. Nielson

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