Announce the Day

It was the day the Sun turned black. The day the rooster didn’t crow. Not because it didn’t have anything to say but because it had too much to say. Too much noise to make. Too much to announce.

It didn’t want to wake the hens who like to coo inside their coop. It didn’t want to wake the birds asleep in their nests. Nor the chipmunks in their holes.

It was the day the rooster swallowed its crow.

At first the sky was just dim. No alarm to wake it up. Just silence, nothingness. A dull despair.

But the sun still rose. It still managed to wake the rest.

Each day the rooster tried to pull back the light, but the sun still managed to rise, so one day he gobbled it up. Swallowed the sun whole. No more disturbing the peace. No more waking the others. No more shining. Everyone could rest in peace. Rest in the silence of the night.

And so he gobbled it up. And he held it. Then it started to get hot. Really hot! Each ray scorched him from the inside. But he still held it. Tiptoeing around so as not to wake the hens.

He kept holding it in, and the days went by without a sun. It got cold. The hens began to shiver in the cold. The birds didn’t take flight. It wasn’t right.

What was once a courtesy became a curse. The rooster was burning up inside while the rest were left shivering in the cold. Something had to be done, so he let out the sun. He let it shine. He let himself be heard.

Don’t be a chicken. Announce the day.