The crow hangs
around the eaves today. Just as he had done the last morning. Yesterday he had
slipped his beak into the rain gutter to take a sip of the previous night’s
rain. Today he’s prancing along the trough to see if there’s any water – here,
there or just around the corner. Well, no. Today is not his lucky day.
He flew in to
this neighbourhood just a few days ago. It's a kind of homecoming. He had flown away from here way back when the
pigeons had taken over these roofs. Strangely, the pigeons are nowhere in sight
these days.
The crow wakes
up from his reverie. He slants his gaze into the eaves trough once again. Could
there be some drops caught at the corner? Or near the spout? Just enough so he could throw in
the much-fabled pebbles? Then the water might rise a bit. It just might! But, no,
there’s not even a drop. For, it had not rained last night.
Strange are
the seasons nowadays. They used to span the year. Now they come and go as they please,
every day. The rain was pelting the roof just the other night. And today the
entire trough is dried up. Now, where can he find some water to wet his throat?
Wherever the pigeons find it, perhaps. Where are the pigeons, by the way?
Fall was yesterday
Summer had its way last night
It might rain tonight.
©
Quenching thirst is a deep intensive need, birds or other natural beings. Captured well, narrated well by observant eyes on the roof ... Short crisp description.
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