squak squak
Sometimes, I wish that I were a bird, perched upon your shoulder. A crow, one whose glimpse would provoke curiosity and wonder amongst those who approach it, leaving them with a tinge of craving to dive deeper into it. Alone, in its core, though not lonely, lies a reflection, a reflection of all that is there and all that it beholds. Its ponderers could be left with disappointment or fulfillment, and either way, the crow would know that it had completed what had needed to be done. After all, the crow knows nothing but what it needs to know. And, all that is needed is there, no matter any judgement placed upon it, judgement which may taint its "true" perception. Does the "truth" not taint itself? So, tell me: what do you perceive a crow's feathers possess that is beyond any form of comprehension to us, and even to the crow itself? In each rainbow ray of light which shines off of the crow, which beholds infinities of mysteries and entanglements, do you seek someth...