I was out in the garden last week, doing my favorite thing - wandering about slightly aimlessly. As I ambled I did little jobs as the mood struck me: picking up fallen twigs, throwing a ball for the dogs, tying in a wayward branch. It was one of those still autumn afternoons when all sensory inputs feel diluted - yet still sharp. It was quiet, save for an occasional bird call and the crackling of leaves under our feet The smells of autumn were faint but poignant. The light was weak but crystal clear. It was cold but not chilled. Everything felt as it should be and there was nothing, and everything, magical about feeling a part of the cycle of life. As I scanned upward into the grayish blue wash from the December sun, I saw a veritable river of crows flying with distinct synchronicity and apparent purpose. All in the same direction, all along the same path. As time passed, the stream of corvids continued. One might say relentlessly. Could anyone who noticed the torrent of crows have escaped the pull of that moment? Not I.
Thanks for this peaceful post Pru. I enjoyed learning more about these intelligent birds.