A colony of rooks

Whether my wild camping place last night was badly chosen or not is maybe better left to prosterity.

The tree I was camping under last night was an ancient oak tree whose old and wrinkled branches were spreading out in all directions and made me feel like sleeping in a cradle while this ancient wooden grand mother was watching over me.

A large group of rooks must have thought so too arriving just before darkness while I was busy putting up my tent and preparing for the night.

I have a strong suspicion that last night`s ancient oak tree might very well have been their favorite sleeping tree...all evening while I was trying hard to get into a phylosofical mood, trying hard to contemplate these past five months in Amsterdam, reliving my non-travelling life back in Holland....these blue black crow-like birds were busy screaming at me....I was in their realm...camping under their watchfull grand mother, wooden or not....a bit like a finding a stranger in your bedroom I presume.

Waking up in the morning I found my noicy neighbors gone and the outside of my tent covered with their chakly droppings.

Point taken.

written by  heraclio on May 4, 2000 from Berlin, Germany
from the travel blog: 600 km. to Berlin
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