Lately, dear readers, I’ve been pondering crows.
Watching a crow is always magical to me. I find them enchanting. They are like little patches of the night sky, complete with stars for eyes. Yes, I know, their eyes are black too, but, when I see them seeing me too, I swear I see a glimmer there that makes me think of stars blinking across time and space to Earth. Like stars, when I see a crow I feel compelled to stop and smile, to pause a moment and contemplate them. Even in the mundane moments of their life they seem mysterious. Why was this crow just hopping around between the branches of my tree? Was it trying to get comfortable? Was it looking for a snack? Is this the crow equivalent of step-aerobics? Flap one, flap two, and stretch those flight muscles! Maybe, as reductionist as this sounds, maybe it was just fun. I know if I had beautiful, black, glossy wings like a crow, I am pretty sure I would spend several moments of every day just flapping around for the feel of the wind in my feathers.