Old dreamers in stands still rocking to sleep with visions of glory
The curse of the crows woke me just before the dawn. The bedroom skylight is directly under their flight path from the rookery of the Parson's Wood to the scavenging lands.
Crows are like bar-room drunks. They raucously announce their every thought to all within earshot. Yes, I had a dream, and it came from that map Google will never track, in the tangled web where old thoughts meet new imaginings in the underworld under the cranium.
The dream was a young boy's dream of yesterday, today and tomorrow.