8/13/2018 0 Comments
Stone the Crow Chorus Blog
Marie Marandola - BAGGU for Irving Farm Coffee Roasters
I bought the bag with the crows on it at the station coffee kiosk, back when I was still learning to ride trains by myself.
“Do you know the difference between a raven and a crow?” the cashier asked.
I shook my head.
“Crows are the ones that travel in groups,” he said. “They menace and caw. Whereas ravens are bigger, with hooked beaks. You only ever see one or two ravens in one place. And the sound they make is more of a low croak, or a growl.”
My coffee was free that day. The bag’s been with me since.
A friend mentioned recently that, although he doesn’t mind the single life, he misses having someone to make breakfast for.
I don’t. These days, I like waking up by myself in undiluted darkness. When all I can hear is the murmur of Law and Order reruns circling my neighbor’s TV while she sleeps—and only if I strain to hear it.
If I strain to hear it, I can remember a time when my skin ached from lack of touch. When I cackled and flapped about with need. When my own breath wasn’t enough to circulate love through me. A lonely girl with a cache to fill, wandering hazy through an echoing commuter hub like a half-remembered dream.
Now, awake, I brew strong tea and test my voice to the sound of no one snoring. I paint my eyelashes into black, long-feathered wings.
Outside, dawn breaks.
I skip breakfast altogether. I want to live on air.
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