Picture a garden belonging to a man. And a crow who stalks the garden, devouring its fruit. The man has a grandson to whom he gives a gun, instructing him to kill the crow. The boy finds the crow in a tree and fires, winging the bird. For several days, the crow haunts the garden floor, harrying the yard dog, a German shepherd. Bold is the crow, mischievous. The grandfather tells the boy to shoot the bird in the head. And so the boy approaches the crow, resting on a pile of dirt, and aims as told, inching the barrel of the gun to the bird’s crown. The crow watches the boy. The boy sees the crow is watching him. He fires. The boy watches the crow die. It is the boy’s first encounter with death. And he is death’s instrument. The death, indelible. One the boy will mourn for years to come.
Excerpt from Arash Saedinia's essay for "Romance with the Crow I Killed"