The post that inspired today’s work, by Brannley Miller:
Once upon a time, a crow was flying looking for a meal, and he struggled to find something tasty to eat. Like all crows, he loved shiny things—the more sparkly, the better. As the wind buoyed him up and down, a bright, golden shine caught his eye.
Swooping down, he perched on a convenient branch and saw a tiny glowing, golden, floating crown. He hopped over, tilted his head, and puzzled at it for a few moments, before he tentatively pecked at it. The crown bobbed up and down, still held aloft, but did not fall. As he leaned closer, his head near its edge, the crown bobbed over and settled floating above his own head.
He opened his mouth to cry “caw, caw” in alarm, but instead out came “What the blazes is this?”
“What … what…” he sputtered.
He flew off, trying desperately to shake the crown off, make it fall, disappear. But it would not come away from his head. Not in wind, nor rain, snow, nor heat nor cold.
The other crows didn’t know what to make of him, sometimes pecking to take the cursed object away for themselves. Mostly though, they stayed away, for when they called to him in their caws and croaks, he spoke, and though he knew their language, they did not understand this strange new tongue they heard.
If you peer carefully in the deepest woods around, you might catch this lonely little fellow, who sings his sorrow:
Heavy is the crown
Upon my silk black head
I flew too close and paid the price
Now I wish to undo my dread
Reverse my frown,
To bear it will suffice.
A fellow traveller, Scoot, has an addendum to this tale of woe.
The more you read, the more you know:
Rachael Varca is a writer of more than fifteen years experience. She writes at Inking Out Loud, a collection of essays, poems, short stories, and home of the serialized novel, Heart of Stone. To see which books she’s working on for Commonplace Thoughts, visit her at Bookshop.org.