A raw stream of consciousness thing that just burst into existence as I wait for my meds to kick in. I’m wide awake after too little sleep. I may try to work it up into a poem later. I’m having serious FEELINGS about crows, but I always have and always do. Tagging @writernotwaiting because… I guess because I Wrote A Thing? ;) And @raven-brings-lightand@lunariagold because ravens/crows/birds-in-general obsession.
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The dawn brings enough light I can just see the dark green of the trees against the faint red of the bright sky. It’s a color I can’t name, this summer morning sky.
The little birds twitter sweetly, tiny harmonies and then the loud hungry call of crows cuts through the soft texture of noise like a harsh black blade.
I love them, these insistent screams. They speak to me, my death eater birds. They stay, dark and gothic watchers, undeterred by the flame of sun or the silver ice sky of winter.
I love that they seem not to belong in these long seasons but only to the liminal quickening of autumn.
I love that they remain, that they slice through these extremes and seem always in contrast with the sky.
