I come by my love of black-feathered birds naturally. Long before I knew that my Danish maiden name literally translates to “crow grove”, as a child I would spend hours watching and listening to the raucous birds in the trees around me.
My goodness, they are smart birds. My fascination with them has only grown into admiration as time has gone on. At my favourite beach, I have a friend I call Charles; he used to come to sit on a sign post when he saw my car each day. Unfortunately COVID-19 has disrupted this ritual, along with so much else. I was sad when I didn’t see him there yesterday.
Today as I sat writing at my desk, I had a feeling I was being watched. A glance out the window showed me why: a crow was sitting in the branches of the nearby tree, looking in at me — or, more accurately, at my lunch.
His (her? their? I didn’t want to presume) head cocked back and forth. I smiled and shrugged helplessly, gesturing to the window between us. With a disgusted caw, the bird gave one last head tilt and took off for less-daft human company.
The chances of it being my friend Charles are very slim. (I live nearly 8 km / 5 miles from the beach, as the crow flies.)
But let’s pretend anyway.
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