The Rooks' Tale...

As the clouds gather and the wind rises, we still fly, still search, still cry our cries and still feed on that which others refuse. This is why we succeed, how we thrive while they suffer, scream complaint and fade into memory. The storm however rough, does not make us fear, it is a time of plenty for those brave enough to carry on, not scared of the rain or the wind.

Yet you look at us with distaste, calling us ugly, scavengers, driving us off with stones. But we return. We are strong, stronger than you. Prepared to make our own future, to stare out your condemnation with our dark eye. Content with knowing that we will not struggle, not lose to the weather nor to your assault.

If you wish to thrive, you who fear the wind and rain, you must be like us. Cowering in some corner waiting for the hand of some munificent spirit to save you from the sky's curse will not serve you. Do that and you will fail - to be just a memory of something good, something beautiful. But a failure just the same, a reminder that dinosaurs are not ugly, just dead.

Do not fear the storm. Fly into its face. Cry loudly. Adapt to the world's changes. And succeed.

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