I see the chicken as a brave little modern day Oedipus, on his way to the maternal nest. I fear for his tiny feathered soul when he reaches the crossroads.
Additionally, the questions surrounding the circumstances that led to the greenway's passive surrender to the seemingly endless processsion of crossing chickens seems to be an untapped well. Mixing metaphors is also a speciality. Perhaps the submissive nature of the greenway is really a front for millennia of pent up rage and frustration at chickens and their endless dithering. The Day of Revenge draws ever nearer. If I were poultry, my fear would be untrammelled.
[ May 28, 2002: Message edited by: Stephanos ]
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And all the rest is literature
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