If I had to be an animal for a week, I would be a crow.
Not only because crows are intelligent, observant, and endlessly curious, but also because they are known for collecting little treasures. Shiny buttons, forgotten trinkets, small things that other creatures might overlook.
I think I already live a little like that.
I collect words, memories, quiet moments, and pieces of people’s stories. I notice the things that are easy to miss: the person sitting quietly at the edge of the room, the meaning hidden beneath someone’s laughter, the tiny spark of hope that survives even after a difficult season.
As a crow, I would spend the week flying above the noise, seeing the world from an entirely different perspective. I would perch in the tallest trees, listen to conversations carried by the wind, and probably bring home far too many shiny objects.
I would also thoroughly enjoy the freedom of being able to leave whenever a situation became ridiculous.
One flap of the wings and I would be gone.
No explanation. No awkward goodbye. Just a dramatic exit into the sky.
And, knowing me, I would still find some quiet porch somewhere, leave a feather near the lantern, and remind whoever lived there that even the creatures dressed in darkness can carry a little light.
