On the side of the road, the crows gather. They dot the berm—little robed monks in modest black. Picking and pestering. Cawing and careening. Communion is a smattering of roadkill possum.

Take this and eat of it. This is my body, which shall be given up for you.

They partake with reverence: brief flutters of wings, tender peckings, and silent blessings.

A rust-colored smear on the grey highway leads to the offering—who is covered now—shielded from the eyes outside the avian parish by black feathers that become a living funeral shroud.

Take this and drink. This is the blood of the covenant which shall be shed for the forgiveness of sins

The birds drink of it and ascend, singing hymns, wings alight. The possum is brought to the heavens in the mouths of nature’s faithful.

– Jade Braden