the language of black birds

[...] There are parrots living in the parks of Brussels. Green, loud creatures. The other day a flock of the birds flew over me. First I was confused a little, looking at those long-tailed creatures. I had not seen flying parrots. Then the realisation came. Parrots? At large? So large? What was it I wanted to write about? Oh, language, Black, birds. I wonder where this will take me... language of the black birds, of crows. The language of crows. The other day, I went out on to the wooden terrace which we have on the second floor where we go to smoke. I looked towards a tall tree in the park nearby, and there was a silhouette of a crow in among the branches. Silent, jailed. It was cold and dark, the kind of darkness when your eyes turn off all colours and you see just grey and white without you knowing. I was wondering whether the winter was yet coming or it would be over quickly. So very unlikely.