Counting crows
This week we dreamed of disappointment. Our idols were unkind. Our religious encounters turned to dust. And our celebrities mocked us.
Michael Jackson is heard taunting “hee hee’ as he moonwalks away from a bleeding fan. An attractive cop comes to investigate a crime, but bullies the dreamer instead. A Virgin Mary statue comes alive to isolate children.
Birds fluttered around the edges of our torment. Their occurrence was higher than it’s been all year. In this week of shadowy cruelty, crows and ravens led the flock.
They blocked our paths, and died on our lawns in their thousands. They grew third eyes, and even turned white. They preened our hair lovingly or pecked at our heads until we fled.
Friend or foe? The corvids refused to be defined.
A dreamer remembered nothing but a single line from the night: “A bird lands; a pigeon perches.” Perhaps the answer is hidden in there.
I had a dream that David Attenborough was narrating my life and lying about everything and just generally being a jerk
