A Murder of Crows

The Blackbirds are in a bad mood this morning. Ever since the sun came up they’ve been tearing around this part of the River Valley like a bunch of holy terrors. They even tried to congregate in the tree across the way, jamming in to sit on any branch available, they looked like grown-ups attempting to fit into children’s clothing. The Magpies were ecstatic, flitting about adding their cries to the raucous choir.

Just now about forty crows were chasing a poor, haggard looking hawk at high speed. I was worried, but the hawk just kept beating it upwards until he hit a draft and sailed placidly away from the troublemaking gang.

Now they’re just hanging around. Adolescents on the prowl…