this morning (not the lark/owl dichotomy, but the morning crow)

there is that song about morning having broken … i always think – into the bedroom. with the evilest of intentions, totally bent on wreaking havoc and mayhem (i wonder why those two are mentioned together, but i will not, as Dickens says, destroy the idiom) – or on conquest.

and then, yawning like my jaw joints would crack, i look out of the window.

and there is his one

the ruffled crow downstairs

looking ruffled, dishevelled even, just the way i feel. probably hungry, too… but i will know that after i’ve had some coffee.

so, it is not the morning lark. it is the morning crow that survives the day.

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