Perched on a picket fence, a crow observes the world around it. Deep black feathers ruffle uncomfortably at the scene before it, and dirty black talons scuff about on splintery wood. At the crow's touch, snow falls from the fence, exposing the harsh red that lies beneath. A quick scurry to another picket dislodges more snow. This pleases the crow. It's black beak grins at the scratching texture under its talons.
The crow looks up; it's obsidian eyes focusing on a single snowflake. What an ugly and disgusting creation! This thing, unique from all its brethren. This thing of pure white, descending to Earth like an avatar. But wait! A sliver of pink awaits it. The snowflake lands on this sliver, this tongue, the tongue of a child. The child feels this presence on his tongue and giggles at the sensation as the snowflake fades away. A giggle of innocence, the crow muses, smirking. It is only a matter of time.
The crow pulls it's attention from the child and looks around. The yard in which the child plays is completely white. This is the only world the child knows, this alabaster land of fairy-tales and make believe. Such a shame that it cannot stay that way forever. The crow laughs, spreads it's jet-black wings and lifts into the air.
The crow levels off its ascent and gazes down at the small neighbourhood that will soon be the child's new world. On the house of the child lies a blanket of snow, but this cover does not fool the crow. He knows all about the speckled black shingles that lie beneath, hidden from view. Other houses have patches of black showing through the snow. Everyone knows about these patches, but oh, if they only knew the full truth! If only the crow could tear away the hideous blankets and disclose to all the darkness beneath! But the crow digresses. The shock of knowledge will come in time.
From this height, the crow can see the fences he loves so dearly. Those flame red bastions separating each home, keeping each to their own, preventing people from getting to close. The crow smiles derisively, and climbs higher into the sky.
At this new height the crow can see even more of it's domain. So many small neighbourhoods, each dotted with black, each with its crimson barriers, each a beautiful sight to the crow. But these are not the crow 's favourite attractions at this height. From this level the crow revels in the sight of the roads. Strips of dark asphalt intertwining throughout the neighbourhoods. This lattice of black, however, is not the greatest feature of the roads. It is the fate that befalls the snow that tries to conceal the roads! Not only does it ultimately fail, but it also becomes discoloured, turning a mottles, vomit-brown. What a wonderful sight indeed, to see the white turn dark. The crow feels the wind on its wings and rises once more.
Now the crow has reached its favourite elevation. Fromthis new vantage, it can see the industrial area of the city, this sector of high technology and intelligence, spewing forth thick, acrid smog. Factories, companies and commuters, all contributing to the darkness that hovers overhead. What fools, to think that they are advancing their species, when they are really destroying themselves. They never really do lose that innocence, do they? Just to peer in on one of those creatures' thoughts, what a humourous experience it would be. Now that the crow has had it's fun, it prepares to descend once again.
Down into the clouds the crow swoops, seeing snowflakes being formed. It lashes out, destroying then with it's wings, beak, talons, whichever is able. The crow destroys many, but not all. It perches again on another fence, knocking away the white snow. His ebony eyes scan the skies and come to rest on another crystalline snowflake, making it's journey to Earth.