What I Learned in Space.

The truth is:
A crow, being a crow, is misunderstood by just about everything.
Being a crow, it appears practically identical to every other crow.
This is mildly inconvenient to the crow.
It yearns to be more.

Humans try to scare it, often, by the use of scarecrows, but scarecrows do not scare crows for long.
They only scare everything else.
Not being scared of scarecrows is hardly rocket science, for a crow.
Still, a crow may be disturbed by the thought that it is not scared of anything.
And so it goes searching for something to be scared of.
Most crows will give up at some point.
Owls are about as scary as it gets for a crow.

But one crow in a million will discover that he is the same color as space.
And one crow in a million, of the one in a million crows, may come to realize that it is - in fact - space.
And what is space?
The absence of anything?
Like the mind of an empty-headed fool?
Empty? Like a vacuum?

Nature doesn't care very much for a vacuum, and immediately casts about for something with which to fill it.
That something is (lost in translation).
Therefore:
Since foolish emptiness invites in more (lost in translation), a crow may be well advised to search out better ways of being a fool, because without a doubt:
Foolishness is its own reward.