There’s a kind of lonely sound that doesn’t belong to the night. Owls, crickets, the distant hum of a highway — those are expected. But a rooster crowing at midnight? That’s a different story.
I first heard it three summers ago, at 12:47 AM, when the air was thick and still. A single, sharp crow. Then silence. I told myself it was a dream. But the next night, same time. And the next. midnight crowing
Turns out, the old farmer down the road had a rogue rooster with a broken internal clock. "He’s not confused," the farmer said, spitting tobacco into a coffee can. "He’s crowing at his own midnight. Some birds just refuse to wait for dawn." There’s a kind of lonely sound that doesn’t