Sitting in a meeting late afternoon, I sensed a shadow passing by an office window near me that looks out onto a small wooded park. Subtly turning my head, I realized that the shadow was a crow flying into a tall pine. Followed by another crow, and another. A group of crows--a family? a small winter flock?--was heading for the shelter of the boughs to roost for the night.

I was reminded of a section of Wallace Stevens' poem "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird":

VI 
Icicles filled the long window 
With barbaric glass. 
The shadow of the blackbird 
Crossed it, to and fro. 
The mood 
Traced in the shadow 
An indecipherable cause.


Shadow of a crow.
My mood shifts
with my attention.