The sky filled with black crows this morning.
There were hundreds of them in my oak tree alone, cursing and swearing loudly. I watched them out the window and thought about what I've been told.
I have a good friend who is a biker woman and quite extraordinary. She is talented, beautiful, wild, brave and much more free than most people I know. Her name is Jay.
Jay says that black crows are the spirits of dead bikers. I looked out the window at the gathering crows and I could imagine them slumped over their gleaming Harleys, dressed in traditional leathers, and scowling at each other.
Bikers are unusual people. A lot of what they do is "theater". There are bikers I would trust with my life and bikers who I would never trust with anything.
I watched the conference for about an hour and then by some mutual agreement, they took to the skies and roared off to another location in unison. Theater, indeed! I sat transfixed at the window for another half an hour wondering if they would return, but they didn't.