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CROWS ©By Russ



Morning silence broken by the calling of a single crow perched atop the highest fir. He loudly makes his location known, calling for those who follow in the fog. Coming home to roost, or going to feeding grounds, the pattern’s always the same. A lone sentinel flies ahead to direct the flock, and after awhile, joins those who have just passed by, to be immediately replaced by another feathered beacon in a sea of gray. I’ve watched this pattern repeat itself until hundreds of crows passed by. They are called a kettle of crows, when they fly in a large group. A kettle of crows, a gaggle of geese, I wonder who’s responsible for these odd-ball names? Cars starting up and driving down the lane, heading for work (the feeding ground for the human kind), each car responding to a ‘call’ of it’s own. Horns honking at the intersection, (where the highway meets our road, creating similar patterns. But I know the honking and the caw-ing are not at all the same. One is a clear signal to those who follow ‘it’s safe now, come this way’, or ‘this is the way to go.' And for the strange birds below, the call is; ‘hurry up, you’re moving too slow’, or ‘damn it, get out of my way’. And here I sit, listening to the different approaches to this self same day.

Russ....7-28-98





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