Shooting Stars

Today my waking thought was of the shooting stars I saw last night. Years ago, long before we lived on our little parcel of paradise, someone built a lean-to between the barn and granary.  The low, smooth metal roof has a gradual pitch, making an ideal perch for star gazing.  I huddled in my blanket and watched the stars imperceptibly spin around some hidden axis.

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Today a murder of crows holds high council in the white pines towering over our rooftop. I’m not privy to their conversation, but it sounds urgent.  Perhaps they discuss a threat to the rookery or try to settle a dispute.  Whatever the issue, their feathers are certainly getting ruffled. Their raucous caws ring through the neighborhood.

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