Caw-caw-cawcadoodle-do called the crow outside my window this morning. Sitting on the thick branches this side of the power lines. Black eyes and black beak hidden behind the points of the young maple leaves.
“Fly away crow,” I yelled from my pillow. “I’ve an alarm clock that works just fine. No need for you to fret and fuss over when I’m to rise.”
But it was too late. The early morning sun pried my lids apart and flooded my irises with reflected, light.
Caw-caw-cawcadoodle-do called the crow, mocking me.
I lifted my head from the pillow and kicked back the sheet twisted about my legs. I stretched my arms and back and cursed that crow.
He appeared on a branch barer than the rest. Close to the window. His black head cocked to the side, a beady eye staring in at me.
“I’m up, crow, I’m up,” I said pulling a shirt over my head and pants up my legs. “Let’s go about our own ways now.”
The crow spread his midnight wings and flew away. I went to the window and watched him fly over the buildings, heading to the canal. My head was heavy and fell to the pillow of its own accord. Still half-dressed, I pulled the sheet up to my neck and closed my eyelids.
The seconds eyelids closed. And the third. My eyes retreating. The sparkles of sleep and dreams caught in my mind’s air, like pollen from spring trees. I started to fall. To collapse away from wakefulness.
Caw-caw-cawcadoodle-do called the crow.