Anything wild catches my eye. Surrounded by day in Swiss concrete, there is little moving to distract me: except the crows.
In the bare branches of the stunted municipal trees they hunch and wait for a dropped sandwich; a popped pringle; an unloved apple.
They throw back their necks and caw jubilation to waiting mates . Unfurl shake of black shawl wings and sky borne : quartering and dividing the dark tarmac, deciding how to achieve the ground and to eat their quarry.
Swoop. Decent. Great wings folded and tidy they step delicately martial across their parade ground of discarded dinner and impale a morsel in anthracite black beaks . Food inspected, assessed, consumed, they return replete to the bare winter tree and watch us, intelligent sentinels, as the darkness falls.
I so enjoyed this celebration of the crows, Cathy. They truly are intelligent sentinels, and really fun to observe.
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there is always a crow watching somewhere!
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Good post and picture. There are always crows around the allotments and I often stand and watch them. xx
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I have read that they are as intelligent as children.
xx
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They are such adaptable survivors.
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so beautiful-a delight to read such poetic words.
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