A crow eats a corn dog

It’s a dreary, late-February afternoon, and I’m sitting on the couch in the journalism room with my hands folded above my knees, trying my best not to twitch. My gaze travels through the glass doors as a teacher walks by the green tables outside of the classroom. In this weather, everything looks gray. A foil-wrapped package rests on the surface of the table directly in front of the door, most likely an uneaten corn dog from lunch. Maybe someone left it there on purpose. I wonder who it belongs to. I could really use a corn dog right now. 

My eyes begin to drift away from the door when a slight movement recaptures them. A crow has landed on the table. It approaches the foil package, and while I expect it to fly away as quickly as it had arrived, my gaze follows its every move. The crow gingerly pokes the foil with its beak. Then again. Then, it seems to bite into the package. Soon, I realize that the crow is unwrapping the package, revealing the bright yellow of the corn dog inside bit by bit. 

No one walks by, and I hope no one will. 

The crow has finished unwrapping and digs into its meal. In mere seconds, it clears the corn dog, leaving only the stick, foil and a few yellow crumbs behind. It flies out of sight without picking up its trash, and then I realize that I have been staring at the crow and its corn dog for the past several minutes. But for some reason, the view outside doesn’t seem so gray anymore.