Just as it started to get dark tonight, I went outside to have a cigarette. It was a nice night. The air was cool; giving off the impression that fall is just a stones throw away. It had rained briefly, and the air was fresher than is has been for several days.
The rain had done an excellent job of washing away the usually pervasive stink of car exhaust, and had given the streets a gleam, as though someone had spilled gloss all over the place. The sky was starting to morph into an inky blue, but still had a little reddish flare. It was wonderful. It’s moments like those that remind me why I still live in the west.
The streetlights had just begun to flicker on. I could hear them crackle and hum. They remind of a surly old man that has been woken abruptly, still sputtering and grasping at the reality of being alert. 60 cycles of constant rhythm, washing into what I find to be a comforting sound. It has this droning warmth to it, and gives me the same satisfaction that the fridge does when starts it’s ritual buzzing in the middle of the night.
Then something curious began. Just as I had lit my cigarette, I heard a caw, and then another, and another. The noises got louder. I looked up to see the biggest murder of crows I have ever seen. There were hundreds of them. They flew from building to building, taking the time to perch only for a second, then off to the next structure. They were restless, and soon started circling just above the power lines at the intersection.
It was like watching the beginning of a tornado. They created this vortex, spinning round and round, with every turn, more and more crows joining in. The intersection became a whirl of streaming black. It was glorious. I can’t remember a moment that compares to this. It was a strange and powerful event. For a just a second, I began to imagine that this might be the kind of moment where Edgar Allen Poe found inspiration. It had a sense of brooding drama, and seemed to be a gothic, and macabre painting that had come to life.
Then the birds whipped out of their twisting frenzy, and flew in an impressively tight formation towards the McDougal centre and ultimately finding sanctuary on its roof. It got quiet as quickly as it had been chaotic.
I must admit, I have always found crows to be fascinating creatures. They seem to move with purpose, and have a poise that birds shouldn’t have. For some reason, which is unknown to me, I have begun to think of them as wise, and I have implicated a sense of intelligence on them. They strike me as not the sort of common rabble that magpies and Pigeons are. They have a dignity and I find that curious.
On to other things…
Today was a productive day. I manage to accomplish a host of things that I had been tangled up in for too long. I am feeling less restless now. The summer doldrums have faded for now, and I am excited as we enter the fall. I feel as if there is much to do, and I am a man ready to roll up his sleeves and go headlong into the breach. The fall always has a sense of renewal for me. Perhaps it’s because as a kid, school always started in the fall, or because I feel more productive at this time of year. Regardless, I enjoy it, much the way I enjoy visits from old friends.
September bodes well for my chosen profession. It looks to be reasonably busy. I have a few kinks to work out in the act, and now realize its time to bring some new ideas to the stage. Overall it functions well, but I find I am straying further and further away from concrete material in favour of playing with ideas. What used to be awkward for me is now something that I am beginning to relish.
Now I must sleep.
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