by Melanie Mulrooney
Crow circled above as the sad one trudged through wet sand, scrambling to perch on the highest rock. She visited every day — huddling against the frigid wind, pleading with the ocean, leaking her salt into the vastness.
Crow sang to her sometimes, when he was bored. She didn’t answer, but she also didn’t yell for him to leave. So he stayed close; they often dropped food, if he waited long enough.
Receding waves carried her calls to the deep: Ty, come home.
* * *
One day she piled peanuts high on a rock before climbing to roost. Crow swooped in again and again to collect his bounty, then flew off to find the perfect gift in return.
When he dropped the small sea pebble, she drowned it in salty tears, cawing about Ty’s eyes, blue like glass.
* * *
She brought many peanuts and Crow grew fat and happy. In exchange, he tried to cheer her with presents from the sea: abandoned shells, strands of netting, shiny buttons found among the rocks. Each piece was rewarded with Ty-words: Ty collects seashells in pretty jars, Ty works too long on a boat, Ty’s favourite sweater has silver buttons like these.
All gifts led to Ty, and more stormy sadness.
* * *
The winds warmed and the light grew long, and Crow caught an extra-special gift delivered from the ocean. She pushed her finger through the shiny gold circle and wailed: no no no. Her cries crashed like the waves again and again, until she had no words left.
Crow was determined to make her happier with his next offering.
* * *
The sad one stopped living on the rock and feeding Crow treats by the sea. He searched for her along the shore for many moons, followed the wind for her familiar lament. His caws were met with silence.
Crow waited a cycle of seasons, but she remained lost. He missed her Ty-words — maybe even more than the peanuts.
* * *
About the Author
Melanie Mulrooney lives in Nova Scotia with her husband and a gaggle of kids. Her work has been published with Elegant Literature, Metastellar, TL;DR Press, and others, and she has won multiple writing competitions and been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. When not writing or child-wrangling, she can be found reading, volunteering in her community, or strolling through the woods — usually with a cup of tea in hand, and always wearing clothing suitable for napping. Her favourite days are when the fog rolls in so thick you can barely see, and everything smells like the ocean. Find her at melmulrooney.com.