The Crows
By Nancy McAtavey
Carbondale
The last January rays, too weak to reach the forest floor, set the treetops on fire. Since early morning, this murder of crows has circled my house…first to the back yard, then to the bare maples that line the street. They sit silently, still. Then one caw, another and another. One flap and then black wings beat their way into the forest. All is quiet again. Until now, at the coming of dusk. They rise up again and just as quickly land at the forest’s edge. One caw, a hundred caws. A noise gathering around one black, still shape.
Ben Hangin’ with his Junto
Deborah Holt Williams
Ben Franklin was a printer, an inventor and a wit
He loved discussing issues in a tavern where he’d sit
With eleven friends, his “junto,” to moralize and sip
“A penny saved is a penny earned!” Ben never left a tip
Begun in 1727, they met each Friday night
Until the tavern staff suggested Ben go fly a kite
Note: Ben called his group of friends his “junto.”
