Road Crows

Uncle Bubba was driving the byways of Eastern Kentucky twisting over the switchbacks and rolling along the rock ledges to Buckhorn Lake. It was early morning at the crack of fog as he climbed higher and higher out of Hazard, headed to a rendezvous with a Kentucky bass. As the miles mounted the sun cracked through the trees as he left the fog in the valley's below. Rounding a rock ledge curve the road actually, remarkably straightened out for several yards and Bubbie descended a slight grade. Three black crows stood in the center of the road as Uncle Bubba quickly approached. Two crows hopped and flapped and hurriedly flew to the trees that lined the road, but the third crow stood in the middle of the road just a little bit longer. It took a few steps towards the left lane before eventually flying off to join it's mates, annoyedly watching Bubbie speed past. Uncle Bubba smiled to himself and thought, "I reckon I'm just like the third crow." The third crow hangs out to check things out and get the whole story. He has to get the most out of every situation, he can't be flighty and maybe miss something. And there's a little rogue in the third crow. He enjoys the thrill of a near brush, a dramatic close shave, the edge of danger. In Bubbie's view, that third crow has no more choice in his approach to life as Uncle Bubba has. We all have our own God given style.