She caught my eye as I walked barefoot on the grass at the graveyard. I love those crows I thought to myself as I bent down and scooped her up. She's a bit tatty around the edges, worn, probably not worth keeping, she's not perfect enough. But I could not take my eyes away from her, she seemed so majestic with her missing bits, the gaps, the barbs not quite aligned. She has travelled far and wide no doubt, soaring, surviving, watching, learning. Time to rest now sweet one for you are being reborn.
Love this I too have been drawn to the morrigan and the wisdom she teaches. I learnt recently that a flock of crows is called a murder which likely originates from fear and folklore.