Perched in solitude atop a weathered post, the crow begins its quiet morning ritual. With deliberate grace, it draws its beak through sleek black feathers, each motion a testament to instinct and survival. The soft gradient of the dawn sky curves around its silhouette, wrapping the moment in a calm stillness. There is no rush here — only the rhythm of nature, undisturbed. In that gentle act of grooming, we glimpse a world where presence matters more than pace, and the ordinary becomes poetic under the morning light.
