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I was in a mental hospital. Snow was coming down in fat blobs out the window. It was April in a suburb of Chicago. (This is no joke.) I saw a horde of crows swooping down on a drainage pipe, and saw a mother rabbit fighting of the horde, with about three babies jammed in a pipe perhaps 3 inches long. About three years after that, suffering a drug induced nervous breakdown, I saw a crow flying off from the lawn of a different mental health facility, also in the spring, with what seemed like dryer lint in its mouth, except the lint squeaked. I found a hole in the grass and realized the crow had found a nest where a mother rabbit had hidden her babies and flown off with it. Then, about a year later, before my alcoholism went into arrest and I experienced conversion to Jesus Christ, I was walking to a pay phone to call somewhere for help for drug and alcohol addiction, and a crow attacked me. Several years before that I had had a dream about a giant black bird hovering over me in a class about »The Metamorphosis« by Franz Kafka, which was being taught in the parish hall at my childhood church. The crow tried to kill me; but I was saved. But it was evil.
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