The High Council of Shitting Birds

I had a dream the other night that I thought was fitting, funny, and kind of sad, but enlightening all the same. I was standing on a very tall, wooden deck that was high among the trees. I realized that I’d been to this place before, (though had never recalled it to journal it) and that it was a meeting place for me and the birds that dwell there. The birds were mostly crows, but also a few eagles and red-tail hawks, and I believe there may have been an owl present. As I came to understand that I actually come to this place in my dreams to talk high things with the wise birds of the wood, I started to try to engage them in dialog. But suddenly all hell broke loose, and there was a frenzy of spring-time squawking, especially among the crows. The eagles seemed to be flying around, attempting to call things to order, and the owl (or the presumed presence of it, as I did not see it), seemed to watch over things with a scrutinizing eye. The hawks, I believe, were flying in arcs above the treetops, unconcerned with the goings-on below, sort aloof avoidance. I was shouting to them but they paid me no mind, and they all started to flit and fly and shit all over me as I stood there feeling alone, insignificant, worthless, ignored and, well, shat upon. I was so covered in bird shit that it was wet as rain, and I was sliding all over the deck, unable to keep my footing or even get away. I can’t even express how accurate this is in how I’ve been feeling in the mundane world lately.

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