I walk home at dusk, after classes are over for the day, & watch while murders of crows gather in the bare tree branches on my block.
Later, at 10PM or so, I go out for a smoke on the front porch with a bruised apple in my pocket. I toss it to the side of the porch, and in a minute or so, a rabbit who’s been expecting me is gorging on apple while I smoke. Occasionally she gets up on her hind legs and gives me a once-over.
Even later, if I’m up late enough, the apple is gone, and an owl hoots from somewhere up & to the right of my ice-covered porch.
I feel like I’m becoming freaking Walt Whitman.