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When Three Loons Dive, Do They Slice Through The Water?

The surface of the lake is so smooth that the flow of the differing currents can be clearly seen as shimmering streaks reflecting the sunshine. Breaking through these jewelled bands, like shadows over unrecognized borders, are three loons – two Arctic and one black-capped Common. They stray apart, become lost in shafts of sparkling water, and as unexpectedly re-appear further along the shore.

     The Common keeps a slight distance from the other two, is usually the first to dive. Dive and disappear so cleanly that only the barest ripple betrays it. The other two quickly go without a sound, a liquid dive which leaves the water empty, save for the dancing sunshine.

     And then a head.

     And then two more bodies break the surface, far from where

they went under, moving away with an ease which makes them seem part of the water. One of them wallows slightly on its side, and reaches far down its breast to preen. After a few nibbles, it rights itself and joins its companions. They become a distant trio of sleek shapes, and disappear in the haze of horizon and glinting sun.

~DE

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Why Are The Crows Again On The Crow Tree?

Four houses down the hill, on my side of the street, a HUGE tree grows in a backyard. For many years it was a resting rook for flocks of crows on their daily migration.


The crows would leave the other side of the harbour around dusk. They would fly to their evening rookery on a university campus on this side of the harbour. I’d guess 5 miles (8.04672 kilometers) – as the crow flies. They would return between seven and nine the next morning, making another stop in The Crow Tree.
I estimate there were around two hundred crows, taking their ease for twenty minutes or so. There was some flying and fluttering around The Crow Tree, but generally they settled and stayed on the branches.

Other birds steered clear.

Then, about three years ago the university, which was the crows’ destination, decided to construct some additional buildings. This meant the removal of trees. Lack of trees meant that the crows would have to go elsewhere. So much for higher learning.

And, indeed, over the months, the crows visiting The Crow Tree diminished, and eventually stopped. I researched the situation and found out that “my” crows were just one cohort of a murder that could reach two thousand. And I found out that not all the crows stopped using the university for their evening roost. There were obviously enough trees for some of them.

But “my” crows stopped.

That is, until two weeks ago.

One morning, around 70 – 100 crows settled into The Crow Tree. It was a great surprise. They stayed an hour or so. With such few numbers, they were neither raucous nor flighty.  They murmured among themselves, but I could not decipher what they were talking about. And then they went on their way. They did not make a return evening flight, and I have not seen them since.

Was it some sort of reunion?


DE

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One Flew Over The Crow Tree

For years and years a massive Murder of Crows used to fly over my house on their way to their nightly roost. They would fly across the harbour, and head for a copse of trees at a university a few miles away. They would often (or some of them) alight in a huge tree two houses down the street. There could be two hundred, and they would fill the tree, cawing and rustling and flying around. Then, in twenty minutes or so, they would be on their way.

Alas, the university cut down that copse of trees for the construction of some buildings. The crows no longer make their journey. I do not know where they now roost.

However, one recent morning, I saw a crow at The Crow Tree. 

It hovered and hovered and hovered and hovered over The Crow Tree. I rarely ever see crows hover. Then it grabbed right on to the tallest piece of a branch (already denuded of leaves) and held on.

It swayed and swayed and swayed back and forth in the wind, sometimes using its wings for balance. It stayed so long that I was able to get my binoculars to watch (and totally confirm it was a crow). It was.

The crow put me in mind of a cowboy attempting to stay on the back of a bucking horse. Whoo-heee!! I imagined it saying. 

All told, it clung to the branch for a minute. Then it let go, flew up, and away.

I had not seen a crow on The Crow Tree for over a year. There are still local crows, in twos and tens, on the ground and in the trees. But not the massive flock that would (I assume) take a wee rest during their evening passage. I do miss their passage from east to west, spooky though it was.

DE

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Paw, The Cat/Kitten, Does Not Mean To Kill The Li’l Bird

I was sitting on my porch
Humble enough,
At my Lighthouse Keeper’s house,
When Paw, the cat/kitten,
Black as a  raven
With one white mitten,
Started playing with a flock
Of little birds.
They were in the bushes,
Flitting from branch to branch
Up and down and over.
He tried to catch one
And then another
And then an another
And then –

He succeeded.
He stood over the bird
Pushed it with his paw,
Sniffed at it,

Then came tearing over to me.
He snagged my pant leg
And pulled.
“Come come come” was in his meows,
So, I did.
The sea breeze ruffled the bird’s feathers
But
There was more movement than that.
I picked up the tiny bird,
Touched its breast,
Felt the trembling heart,
Saw its beak open and close,
And just held it closer to the sun.
It stirred, and stood, and wobbled
And gasped open its eyes
And started to fly
Before it stood.
Right back to the other li’l birds.
Paw slept by my feet
The rest of the day.

{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2023 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

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Paw, The Cat/Kitten, Takes A Walk

I have had to affix

A bell,

Around the neck of

Paw, my cat kitten,

Black as feathers

With one white mitten,


Because

He has acquired

A taste for birds.


This is natural and

Was to be expected.


I might not have done so

On the Mainland,

Where birds are plentiful

And fair game.

But on this island, 

Which one can circumnavigate

In under a two hour walk,

I feel the birds need

All the help they can get.

So – there it is.


And Paw, my cat kitten,

Protested for about

A half hour,

And not since.

He’s a smart li’l bugger.

He adapts.

And I swear, he gets

Faster.

Fast enough to still

Dine on the occasional

Avian feast.


Which he proves, by

Spitting out an errant

Feather or two

At my feet.

{I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2023 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

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Two Crows Look Out To Sea

Paw, my cat/kitten,

Black as the feathers of night,

With one white mitten,

Is starting, at times,

To put me in my place.

He’s a smart little bugger,

So I let him.

We were walking the perimeter

Of Partridge Island,

Which we do

Once or twice

A week,

When he jumped between my feet,

And damned near tripped me.

Which means

‘Stop, you oaf.’

So I did.

On a scraggly branch,

Of one of the scraggly trees,

Two crows were looking out to sea.

Side-by-side

Moving their heads,

Bob to the left

Bob to the right

Exchanging crow croaks,

Ruffling head feathers,

Throats held up in unison.

Seeing what they see,

Telling each other,

Moving, at times,

In tandem,

Along the scraggly branch,

Upon the scraggly tree.

Joy.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2023 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA.UEL

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I See As Far As The Eye Can See Out To Sea

It’s a rare, balmy day

Near the end of November.

I’m sitting on a bench with a back.

I made it myself,

Because a bench with a back

Is a thing of luxury.

I can lean

And not perch.

It is situated safely

Up from the shoreline,

Looking out to sea.

It will not get washed away

Regardless of the fierceness

Of the ocean and its storms.

The Lighthouse is behind me,

And Paw, my cat/kitten.

Black as black can be

With one white mitten,

Is snoozing in the sun

Beside me.

I ponder whether to wake him,

To see a half dozen ducks

Paddling their way around the island.

Paw has his whims,

And might try to catch one.

He won’t, of course,

And I have no desire to scoop

Him out of the cold, November water.

I’ll let him snooze.

I’ll let the ducks go upon their way.

I’ll just sit and enjoy the sun.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2022 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report

DE BA. UEL

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When Birds of A Feather Are Crows Together Do They Ponder Murder?

The crows are gathering outside my window. One crow at a time. On the street. On the sidewalk. On the grass.

I noticed two at first. Close together, and walking around in tandem. On the street. Then one fluttered down from a tree. Also on the street.

There is a single pigeon on the grass, minding – as far as I can tell – its own business. Peck-peck-pecking. Neck jerking as it moves along. Seemingly oblivious.

Then another crow flies down out of the sky. Lands on the grass near the pigeon. Doesn’t move.

Another crow swoops down with a sudden landing on the grass. Takes crow hops to the crow on the grass. They stand together looking at (it looks to me) at the pigeon. The pigeon (as far as I can tell) is minding its own business.

Then a crow lands on the sidewalk, close to the pigeon that is minding its own business.

Its business, almost immediately, is to fly away.

And then the crows on the street fly away. And then the crows on the grass fly away. And last, the crow on the sidewalk flies away.

So – what was that all about?

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The Biggest Crow In Christendom Lands On Partridge Island

The biggest Crow

I ever did see

Is roosting

On the tallest tree

On Partridge Island.

I’m guessing for a day,

Or two,

Of rest.

Wingspan beyond belief.

He won’t find much

Winter fare to eat,

Except carrion.

And they do like clams.

But their choice of seeds,

And nuts and berries,

Is not available.

Nor insects,

Though they’ll dig for them.

But a taste of a small animal,

Might be very tempting.

So, I will keep

Paw, my cat/kitten

Black as a crow

With one white mitten,

In his carry case

Whilst the crow visits.

And,

You know,

My cat/kitten

Has not made one

Complaint.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2022 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

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