The summer allows sunshine and warmth: warmth of the soul and the heart.

The park was vibrant and bright, where I made my walk that day.

Right before I was to leave, toward the end of my trip, I saw a crow, silent and still, prancing back and forth, looking round, unmoving. I stopped in place, watching it go so. Eventually, it caught me too, and we looked one another down.

I lowered myself down to the bird, and where there should have been flight, the crow remained undeterred. I approached it closer, and closer still, so much that I placed my hand right above it, and still the animal did not stir. Finally, I lowered my hand gently upon the bird’s head, and I caressed it down.

The bird did not prefer the contact, nor did it dislike it. It only stayed still, watching me. I petted it a little more, when I couldn’t suppress a smile.

“You are unwell, little crow,” I said to the bird, “but your sickness breeds love.”

The crow stared at me, indifferent to the remark. 

I left the bird, and walked out of the park.

14.X.23