The sky was a cloak
of murder, caws for judgment- the crescent abstained. Walking out of work, there were so many crows in the sky, on buildings, in the trees. Obviously, there was something to converge about and they were in deep discussion. It brought me back to my apartment in St. Louis when I was in college, and there were some large, old sycamores, whose branches stretched over the street and acted like they were part of the building. The crows would come and sit, and I would be within 10 feet of some of them, going about their business and ignoring my human ways. When getting out of the car at home, there was the moon, a fuzzy crescent, above it all and hanging out with a planet and a few stars, leaving all the arguments behind.
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