Once upon a time there a crow made entirely of glass that occupied a place on the shelf in the bedroom of a girl named Pamela. The glass crow had been given her by a wifty old lady when she was very small. Everyone said that the woman had something odd about her and may have dabbled in magic. On some nights when Pamela lay awake and looked at the glass crow catching the moonlight through her window, she could swear she saw its crystalline feathers rustling. One night Pamela awoke unexpectedly very late, and noticed that the glass crow was missing. She left her bed for the window, and far in the distance under the moon she could see the sparkly thing wheeling in the sky. But it was approaching the window again, so she quick scurried back under her covers and watched as it lit on the windowsill sniffing around, then glided gently to its place on her shelf and took up its habitual pose. The next morning Pamela went to the shelf and took the glass crow down. “I saw you flying last night, won’t you talk to me?” she said. But the glass crow was immobile in her hands. Just then her mama came to the door, startling her, and the glass crow slipped from her hands to the floor, shattering into thousands of tiny pieces. Pamela began to cry. Her mother had no patience for that, telling her to clean up the pieces right away and get over it, they could always get her another crow. “But it’s a magic crow,” she wailed. To which her mother said “Now that’s enough nonsense, you know there’s no such thing. Now clean up that mess and be careful about it and put it out in the garbage.” With a broom and dustpan Pamela did clean up the broken glass, but poured all the pieces into a little bag and tied its top with a string. She then placed the bag back in its place on her shelf. That night she woke up in the blue of the moonlight to the sound of rustling. The bag on the shelf was shifting shape and tussling about from within. Pamela went to the bag and untied the string. Out of the bag came the crow, but this was no glass crow, but a real live crow with glossy black feathers. The crow looked up in her eyes and spoke to her: “A witch placed a spell on me long ago for eating from her special grove of pears. She turned me into glass and told me that I would forever be frozen in place except for furtive flights under the grace of powerful moonlight, and that I would never be real again unless a little girl took pity on me and tried to care for me if I broke. And you have! The crow spread her big wings and hugged Pamela. “My name is Zara,” she said, and I will always remember you. And with that she flew to the windowsill, nodded farewell and flew off to rejoin her life in the woods with other real crows. Pamela never forgot her magical friend and had a fondness for all crows and other birds from that day forward.