Ode to Crows
“It is January, and there are the crows
like black flowers on the snow.
While I watch they rise and float toward the frozen pond,
they have seen
some streak of death on the dark ice.
They gather around it and consume everything, the strings
and the red music of that nameless body. Then they shout,
one hungry, blunt voice echoing another…”
Mary Oliver (‘Crows’)
When I was observing ducks and other water fowl at Wheeler Wildlife refuge earlier this week, a huge flock of crows flew over and, as one, dipped down and drank from the water, then rose again and flew away. I could not hear their brash cries, but I knew they were singing. Cold weather makes them happy.
People tend to dislike crows, possibly because they are thieves; they do steal eggs and baby birds from other birds’ nests. In fact, I have seen them tag-team; one will distract the mother bird away from a nest, while the other steals a baby or an egg. They’re smart that way. Crows have many different sounds, some say as many as 80, and have been known to replicate human language when hatched in captivity. My dad brought a crow home once when I was in Junior High. He fed it little scraps of raw meat, which seemed to please it. That crow cursed almost as well as my dad, so Mother made him take it back to its owner. One ‘old crow’ in the house was enough.
Back in the days of the witch trials in Salem , MA
Crows are evidence that everything has a purpose. Not only do they keep the dove population in check, but they keep the streets clean. When they find something dead on the road, they call to one another, gather the community and share the wealth. Crows are charitable creatures; they’re big on ‘family values.’ Next time you see one, thank him for his service.
In the flow,
Jane
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