My neighbor talks to crows. Crazy old woman summer standing out in her backyard. All hours of the day and night. Chained cigarettes, guttural voice. Assaulting me through my open windows. The crows talk to each other. Crazy big black birds. They never seem to sleep. Pecking and preening in packs. Front row seats. My open windows. September, today. September song. Colder nights and chilly mornings. Stuck inside second hand smoke, and talking to nothing. In particular. And the crows are leaving, telling me it’s time for me to close the windows.
A freestyle write today. Sitting down at my computer and seeing what I can come up with on the fly.