The sea of crows fly noisily towards their nests in the pink grey of the evening, as I walk beneath them, towards the paying ward.
This is what we do. This is our routine, I think to myself. The crows and me.
I’ve walked this walk for many months now, and these crows, they are always flying towards their homes when I get here. And they are always so loud. We seem to be going in opposite directions every time.
By the time we leave the hospital they’ll be fast asleep in their nests, the silence even though welcomed, will always be deafening.