Every year around this time large groups of crows (I know, I know, they're called murders) gather in the evenings right outside our house. Flock by flock, they fly in and fill the bare branches at the tops of the tall trees in the woods across the way, creating a noisy spectacle. Some of the neighbors find them threatening-- they dash for their cars, ducking and making inevitable Hitchcock allusions.
I like the crows, though. Sometimes I close my eyes and try to pick out individual crow voices in all that racket, and when I feel like I can almost tell some apart from their kin and companions, the noise changes and it sounds like they are speaking in some language and I could understand them if only I knew it, or if at least there were subtitles against the gray evening sky.
I like the crows, though. Sometimes I close my eyes and try to pick out individual crow voices in all that racket, and when I feel like I can almost tell some apart from their kin and companions, the noise changes and it sounds like they are speaking in some language and I could understand them if only I knew it, or if at least there were subtitles against the gray evening sky.
i think that awesome
ReplyDeleteThere's a wonderful children's book called Crow Boy, by Taro Yashima, you should find, about a Japanese boy who learned to interpret and imitate crows during a long walk to school.
ReplyDeleteCrow Boy sounds very cool. Thanks!
ReplyDelete