There are five crows that hang out in our yard. I wanted them to be ravens, so I could pretend that Odin was guarding the yard. But the internet deflated this fantasy: they are indeed crows.
I really shouldn’t want more. They are GREAT crows. One day, I was sitting in the backyard, and they were perched in the trees along the property border. They began cawing, and then one took off, flew down steeply, banked around the power line pole, then accelerated back up to the starting branch.
This was cool, but then one by one they each did the same thing. The waiting crows cawed loudly, as if encouraging their mate. As they continued to fly around the pole, it was clear that they were playing. Not only that, it seemed like this was a type of drill, practicing maneuvers that would be useful in the wild.
Crows call a challenge
Leap, rise, stoop into a dive
Tilt, twist, bend their path
Beat down wings to rise again
Cawing cheers upon return
I return to this remarkable memory whenever I see them. I thought this would always be the high point, until last week. That’s when I saw one of the crows and a hawk together. Flying together.
The crow led, the hawk followed, beak almost to the crow’s tailfeathers. At first, I thought the hawk might be chasing the crow away, perhaps from a vulnerable nest. But as they flew, curving, diving, flying into tree shadow and reemerging, it became obvious that they were playing.
Thankfully Patty was there to witness this, or this would have been another of my partly believed strange animal stories.
The crow and the hawk
Fly aligned, dive together
United by flight
Transcending their barriers
Darting, flapping, rising, one.
The reality of these birds is so much better than my mythological fantasy. Still, I’d like to think Odin would be proud to have them in his real world.
This post is part of a poetry challenge at http://www.tankatuesday.com
Mark Bozeman 