You never notice them perched on the cat's cradle of wires above every intersection, do you? Crows, finches and starlings, all flittering and twittering as the world whirls by beneath them. Blind nature at work, mindlessly breeding and dying, eating and excreting.
Or perhaps not. Watch them rise, a dark, unified cloud that turns and twines as though animated by a single stormy spirit. Watch that tempest of talons and beaks, a perfect instrument of wrath. Hitchcock hardly knew half of their horror.
An idle fancy? One can hope. Because the flock sees everything under heaven, even you.
The Flock / With a Whimper by I Saw Lightning Fall
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