The moment hits and I must sit down at the keyboard. Type down what is running through my mind; a story singing softly reaches a crescendo. Or maybe just another fork of road where I am suddenly left stranded.
I wander out to smell the June of mid-day. A crow is perched atop the rooftop peak of my barn. He is hunched, settled. His thick neck appearing like a raven’s. So close, he just looks down at me, snickers and flies away.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology