Tuesday, September 20, 2005

"The crows seemed to be calling his name," thought Caw. ~ Jack Handey 

The other morning we ran out of coffee so I went downstairs to get some from the Free Store (my cousin and Pam's apartment) and surprised Pam sitting on her couch, pale and shaken. She was distraught over a nightmare that was so horrific that she wouldn't even tell me what it was about, except that that it involved the death of a loved one. As I was trying to console her E called from upstairs, "Look outside! It's a flock of wild parrots! They're so beautiful!" We both ran to the window to look. Through the fog we saw about 20 large birds perched on a telephone wire outside, staring into the window at us. These weren't parrots, however, but a flock of giant crows, a murder of crows, to be exact, eerily cawing and staring back at us like portents of death. They seemed to say, "Just in case you didn't get the message that someone you love dearly is going to die we're here to do so, registered mail."

I yelled, "Oh, my God! What is wrong with you? Those are CROWS, not parrots!"

E, who had joined us, peered out the window. "Hmmmm, you're right. My bad."

Hey Foxy - on my blog "stargazer's journal", yesterday's post contained this excerpt from Pablo Neruda:

I work silently, wheeling over myself,
like the crow over death, like the crow in mourning.
I think, isolated in the expanse of the seasons,
central, surrounded by silent geography:
a partial temperature falls from the sky,
an ultimate empire of confused unities
gathers surrounding me.

Maybe they were goth parrots.
Maybe they were ex-parrots?
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