Life is settling back into some sort of routine for Hijo and I, and it's very sweet. He had soccer practice yesterday, so I drove him to the big field and I sat in the car listening to In the Maze and reading the latest Kate Atkinson book. The sun was heading towards the line of tall trees at the far end of the field. The clouds were going lavender. The air was cool but soft. Adults walked around the track, doing laps. Every once in awhile I'd put my book down take my glasses off and just sit there with the breeze coming in through the window and the glow of the evening and the music all around me.
Right at sunset the crows came. Darkest black, flapping, high across the blue and the lavender clouds they flew, heading southwest, dozens of them in little groups. Where were they going? Do they all roost together at night? They were headed straight for the Olympic Mountains and I could imagine them flying and flying until they all huddled together on some steep cliff, black spots against the white snow. More likely there is a tree somewhere, or groups of trees. I never see them gather more than two or three at a time during the day, but every evening there is the same exodus, as if they are chasing the waning light.
And then after a few minutes, they were gone and there was just the sky and the moon and the clouds, and the voices of the children playing soccer at the end of the field.
Plato recored Socrates' comment: "They slander swans..." (something about 'swan songs' are the best as they approach their end).
Do we 'slander crows'?
After your lovely appreciation of them I'm just wondering why we refer to a collection of them as "a murder of crows".
Posted by: greg | 18 September 2010 at 06:48 AM