senoritafish | (no subject)

There's a murder of crows sitting on the remaining sycamore branches outside the window, visible just above my cubicle wall. The trees were massively cut back just before Christmas, so they provide no shelter. The crows look sodden and miserable, and every once in while shake their feathers out. A few of them peck viciously at the branch they're sitting on, as if out of sheer frustration, and others flutter over to fellows and huddle together with them.

It's been raining for four days. Makes me glad I have some place to get dry in.