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Rows upon rows. Corn as far as the eye could see.
The scarecrow hung motionless upon the pole, arms akimbo, legs dangling above the dirt.
When the last bit of sunlight left the wide open plains, the scarecrow would be released from its bonds. It waited patiently for night to come, for its time to hunt.
It wasn’t easy getting down from the pole. Nor was it easy returning before sunrise each morning. But it had a duty.
The scarecrow no longer waited for them to come to him.
He knew where the crows roosted and what must be done.