There are moments when I can sense a certain something trying to communicate with me. This certain something is within me. It is me. But which me is it?
Last night in the still of darkness, the midnight hour, a screech cut through the silence.
It repeated itself, it wanted to be heard.
It was heard.
A reply came in the form of a gentle ghostly hoot.
The screech repeated.
The hoot replied, then added a new sound to its call, a woo to the hoot. A woo-hoot.
The screech became a squawk. A screech with a squawk.
The conversation moved on.
It flew from tree to tree.
First they were close, then afar, then close again, closer still.
A kerfuffling ruffle occurred as they came together,
the sound becoming a screech-woo-squawk-hoot,
communication becoming communion.
The moment of cacophonous chaos passed.
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