Counting Crows

One day as I stood in the kitchen of Gerry's father's house, he stood gazing out the window at the snow speckled fields. From his mouth came the words, "Two crows joy..."
He turned as I said, "What does that mean?"
As the ashes from his cigarette fell to the floor, he asked, "Ya never heard a that before?"
"No." I answered pensively.
He recited,
"One crow, sorrow
Two crows, joy
Three crows, a letter
Four crows, a boy."

I walked over to the window and peered out and, sure enough, two crows were pecking at the exposed potato stalks, seeking sustenance to get them through this cold day. I wondered what joy would happen as a result of their pairing and our sighting.

Since then, when I see crows, that little ditty echoes in my head.

Yesterday, I was at our apartments which are located beside the vacant "Rosemary" house. This was a century home and carriage shed we bought a few years ago. Rosemary, the previous owner, had passed away in the house by her own hands and I have always felt a ghostly presence whenever I was at the property. Maybe it was the magotted rat I found in the barn, the rope hanging from a loft beam or the reappearing Guardian mailbox at the driveway's end, after I had taken it down and put it in the barn, several times. Or it could have been the many crucifixes we found in the house, pictures of the Last Supper that graced the discolored walls or the dead birds in the dark attic. Gerry had planned to make apartments out of the old house that stood "straight as a die" and had already done some work on it before falling ill. After putting the house on the real estate market, some friends told me about the good fortune they had selling their houses, after burying a St. Joseph's medal under the For Sale sign. St. Joseph is the patron saint of real estate and I thought he was worth a shot. It took several months but the property finally sold and I give St. Joseph full credit.

I gazed at the property yesterday and thought of how eerie I always felt when I was there. I was also disheartened to think Gerry was not well enough to fulfil his dream of turning the shabby and tired house into a vibrant dwelling. He lamented many times in the last year, about how he wished he had his health to work on the house. Although it was a financial relief when the house sold, it was also the end of an era for Gerry; an era of visions, hard work and dreams fulfilled. As my eyes followed the roof, up towards the chimney they met with one crow flying overhead.