After a nine hour trip yesterday, I had aimed for, planned for, hoped for, to wake up as I pleased this morning. However, the crows had different ideas, and not too long after sunrise I was drawn unceremoniously into the new day. To my surprise – considering all the noise – there were only half a dozen roosting and hopping on The Crow Tree. Perhaps their promised gold was the golden rays of the sun.
At any rate, I re-post this Crow blog from a couple of years ago. I bet many of the crows are the same crows. Who has murdered sleep, indeed.
The crows are in The Crow Tree. They have not been there for months. Sitting at the top above the red and orange foliage.
There are 50 and more crows in The Crow Tree. Making a mighty ruckus as if in strenuous debate. They are greatly agitated.
Crows leave The Crow Tree in droves, circle and return. They are clustered on the top branches with constant noise. More arrive.
Stark contrast on The Crow Tree. A ridge of black crows on top of the red and orange leaves against the blue sky. They keep circling.
It is a picket fence of crows on The Crow Tree. When they perch they cast large shadows. They seem less agitated.
The crow discourse on The Crow Tree seems to be over. Most have moved on and the few remaining are silent. I wonder what they decided.
At The Crow Tree, the rest is silence.
An hour ago my walk took me to a small park/garden across from a church. There are three benches, and I sit there often. Part way through my contemplations, a crow settled into the birdbath. A large crow and a birdbath that would not comfortably accommodate two crows. There had been a big rainstorm the day before and the birdbath was full.
At first I thought the crow was just drinking from the water. But, within a couple of minutes, he was splashing and cavorting and dousing himself in water from his active dance. Head to tip of tail and all feathers in between. A right good soaking.
Then, with a great shake and some flying sprays of water, he flew away.