The black crows in a crowd move as one dark, storm driven cloud across my peripheral vision at the blurred division twixt night and light: I love the crows of the moment, their unitary motion. I love my life. ** What is my life, but seeing black crows cloud? What is my life, but the warm veil now around me as I walk into my place of work? To love my life is to love my work, the lifting of hands, the come and go. To love my work is to love my life. You knew that was coming? Did I say there was some secret? ** Across the sun’s onslaught, a flash of dark substance. A speeding crow.