There’s a kind of lonely sound that doesn’t belong to the night. Owls, crickets, the distant hum of a highway — those are expected. But a rooster crowing at midnight? That’s a different story.
I think about that rooster a lot now. How sometimes the truest things come at the wrong hour — a midnight confession, a 3 AM idea, a sob you choke back when no one’s watching. The world tells you to save it for morning. But the midnight crowing? That’s the part of you that refuses to be quiet until it’s heard. midnight crowing
Crow on.