In a field of freshly sown wheat stood a large black crow.
He surveyed the land and decided this place will do and started to dig, his powerful beak making short work of the dry, crumbling earth. Soon he had a hole big enough.
Pleased with his work, he took to the sky as night began to fall, cloaking him in darkness.
He soared high, sharp eyes trained on the ground.
Where had he left it?
Eventually he found what he had been looking for and started to descend; making a deft landing and covering the final few yards on foot.
He circled the small shape on the ground and studied it closely from all angles. He nudged it over, scrutinizing the underside.
He had been concerned at first, but this was definitely the one.
He grabbed it, talons locked in a vice-like grip; this precious cargo wasn’t slipping from this grasp; not after he had come this far; not after his lifelong search.
He made it back to the field and quickly located the hole, his finely tuned senses not letting him down.
He dropped the bundle into the hole and hope was buried in the field of dreams.
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