The chickens are shedding their feathers. I love the rooster’s feathers. They’re soft and bendy. Their structure is amazing. And they’re  black but not black. He waves these tail feathers proudly. He defends. He fights. He parades. He is not the bravest of the gang. He will never explore new terrain first. But he will come when a chicken calls in distress. And parade his feathers. They’re black but not black.

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Little heroes of a forgotten time
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