|4th Feb 2014✧08:07
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|30th Jan 2014✧12:393 notes
|14th Jan 2014✧12:573 notes
What do you call a flock of crows?
In morning, in mist, in noise-
lessness silence, I walked down
the suburban streets until I came across a puddle hovering above the pavement,
my foot slowly and with hesitation just before contact,
pressed through its fragile surface.
Continuing now, cane in hand, nodding onwards.
The crows following me from yard to yard,
looking for bugs,
mark my progression downwards.
Continuing then, with families and friends gathered indoors for the night,
I will wander the same path,
past the puddles, past the murdered worms, playfully pecked.
I will walk until I smell sulfur from explosions in the distance or hear muted shouts of celebration, and the clanging of the wooden spoons and metal pans.
Happy New Year
Insomniac’s Delight in the Singular
|23rd Nov 2013✧12:041 note
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