Thought and memory

A white-haired man, dressed in dark, sits on a bench by the street and feeds a chicken sandwich to a pair of crows.

The sun is out, it’s a warm late-summer day, and Odin was planning to go for a walk, head on down to the Chinese takeout for some food to celebrate it being Friday, but then the two crows accosted him and he went to the deli instead and got a sandwich and some salad and here he is, wondering who’s training who.

A woman parks a convertible in front of them and until she walks away, Odin and the crows act as if they don’t know each other.

The sun is bright and the sky is blue but there is a schoolish tang in the air.

Odin liked school when he was a kid, but the start of school also TERRIFIED him. Maybe it was transitions he didn’t like? Maybe the fact that school always involved so many other people?

The crows are on their best behavior today. No one steals anything from anybody.

Everything okay in Midgard, asks Odin.

Huginn nods and wipes his beak in the grass. Same old same old.

Seamus Heaney, how dare you die, thinks Odin. You were only twenty years older than I.

Twenty measly years.

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