17 April 2004

(19) The Foulest of Fowl

Envision, if you will, a crow.
Large, quite black, very different.
Unnecessary. Unattractive. Unwanted.
No one likes a crow.
No one smiles, or even grins at a "caw, caw."
Usually, somebody like, well like you probably,
will grin sadistically, wishing you could
blast that black stain from the sky. Heh heh heh.

We've created a creature called a "scarecrow"
to rid ourselves of this beasty vermin with wings.
Alas, you often see scarecrows with crow shit on them.
Have you looked?
We hate crows because they are nasty looking, nasty sounding, and
have no real perceived value.
Yet the crow exists regardless of anyone's wishes.
Isn't it interesting how many crows there are in the world?
Always persecuted, persevering, flourishing.
Throughout history, and today.
He goes wherever he wants, taking that most direct route.
I think we hate crows so much because of our intense jealousy of the
gift of flight. Of survivalism. Of solitude and freedom.

The crow is an ugly underdog who wins.
We hate crows, because we want to be crows.
I think I'm a crow, down deep.
Look at yourself. Aren't you just a human crow?
Probably not.
But you should be.