Three Crows

 

It started with one curious crow. He showed up one day and perched on the fence for a long time, checking out the lay of the land and probably trying to work out the physics of just how he was going to alight on any one of the hanging feeders filled with food. Crows up close and personal are bigger, and more beautiful, than you might think. I named him Corvin. He continued to come, alone, day after day as if he knew I was watching and waiting, as if he was trying to send me a message. 

The first time I put out some whole peanuts—just tossed them on the ground. Corvin cautiously studied them from the fence line for a long time before diving in, literally, iridescent black wings carrying him gracefully to the ground. I held my breath as he cocked his head side to side, up to the sky, all around and back down to the feast I had laid out for him. I watched him shell nut after nut and then he took a beak full, extended those beautiful wings and flew away. Ahhhh, bliss.

The next day, Corvin returned with a friend who was a bit smaller and much more timid. I named her Onyx. I like to believe they are a mated pair. Corvin keeps watch while his beloved pecks at the buffet, which now includes dog kibble (which Valkyrie is none too happy about) and suet pellets that are basically crow crack. My wallet is empty but my heart is full—I’m feeding crows!

Crows are not aggressive unless threatened, and they don’t bother the other birds on the feeders, although their arrival does cause a scattering, and oh what an entrance they make! If it’s a sunny day, I always know they’re coming by the subtle shift of light as their three foot wingspan momentarily blocks out the sun, all of the birds in the yard take flight at once—an ephemeral flapping of dozens of wings and then, crows. 

Three of them now, sometimes four and on rare occasions as many as six or seven, but every day there are three—Corvin, Onyx and Maleficent. They know that between 8-9 a.m. I come outside to fill the feeders and lay out their smorgasbord de jour. I always hear them caw off in the distance, heard but never seen until I close the sliding glass door and, as if on cue, they appear—three of them, three of us, families that stay together and help one another, love one another, for life. 

As always, be well.