On The Beach

Crowds of kids,

playing,

pretending,

befriending,

rehearsing for life.

Spindly cold legs wading tentatively like shore birds,

running, screaming, guffawing,

marinating in joy and mud.

Driving down the freeway last week,

returning from wedding dress shopping with my daughter,

I witness my first murder of crows,

cawing, flying, perching and pecking.

Now sitting on the beach,

I wonder.

Is there such a thing as a murder of children?

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