I sought to see the truth, but the truth e'er seemed too near. I sought out its reflection, but in that mirror found fear. An exile for man's capriciousness, upon reflection, for capriciousness an exile. A song too light-hearted to sing, upon reflection, light-hearted making every reason to sing. A power grown small, upon reflection, the small grown in power.

It isn't a truth of everything, I doubt. But I ponder the possibilities of rejecting certainties - and uncertainties. A path traveled down becomes lost in thorns and thickets, and the need to persevere overcomes the need to ponder if this is truly the only path. Even when there's one just out of waking sight.

Freedom of understanding.

Freedom of consideration.

Freedom to consider the impossible, or improbable, or unpleasant. Or make light of all three.

This is what it is to be a crow, to me.