Eating crow

I go visit my mom and she's sitting in her wheelchair looking out the window. I saw three yellow cars, she tells me. Only two red. She's becoming more like a kid, even as my own kids have moved past counting cars by their color. 

But then she surprises me. I see that tree...and she points at an ordinary mature maple or ash and she says...that tree reminds me of when we would throw stones at the crows.

She proceeds to tell me of how when she was a prisoner of war after WWII in the Ural Mountains, they would eat crow to supplement their watery cabbage soup rations. And I think, wow, there is still so much I've not known about you.

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