to match with the sound. Not so today; no mistaking that prehistoric quork and the aerial circle of eighteen for the first time since October.
An appearance of a Snowy Egret on his way to somewhere was also the first this year. They seem vaguely prehistoric as well, their lazy wingbeats and ungainly lumbering through the sky a reminder that birds have been with us nearly forever.
The crows were busy this afternoon. I lost time for awhile, watching them leave a stand of oaks in their cloud of ten, racing to the sun and dropping by twos to the treetops again. Each pair chased one another and sometimes looked as if they were hitching rides, so close did they fly together. Females will be on eggs soon, so maybe they are enjoying the little time they have left to play before the work of nestlings begins in late April and early May. It is conceivable, however, that none of the ten I saw are a bonded and mating pair--each one could have been a member of an extended family group whose job it is to help raise young, but have none of their own. I also learned today that the crows are like humans in that one doesn't bother waiting for another to finish talking before an answer, or possibly a different question, is given. I don't know how they get anything decided when they can't hear each other over all the yelling. Maybe their similarity to humans also includes the propensity our species has to hear ourselves talk and never listen to much. If I didn't need a job that paid me money, I would take my currency in crow stories and follow them around all day. Working in a building seems an enormous waste of energy when time could be spent outside unraveling the mysteries of the local crows.
The rain is supposed to start again tonight. I don't want to see any more rain until the soil is thawed and can absorb some of it. My yard is a mass of spongy puddles and the season of either being wet, muddy, or some combination of both has arrived. But I welcome the mess knowing that soon the world will begin its greening and Spring will be less fickle, choosing to stay for awhile.
An appearance of a Snowy Egret on his way to somewhere was also the first this year. They seem vaguely prehistoric as well, their lazy wingbeats and ungainly lumbering through the sky a reminder that birds have been with us nearly forever.
The crows were busy this afternoon. I lost time for awhile, watching them leave a stand of oaks in their cloud of ten, racing to the sun and dropping by twos to the treetops again. Each pair chased one another and sometimes looked as if they were hitching rides, so close did they fly together. Females will be on eggs soon, so maybe they are enjoying the little time they have left to play before the work of nestlings begins in late April and early May. It is conceivable, however, that none of the ten I saw are a bonded and mating pair--each one could have been a member of an extended family group whose job it is to help raise young, but have none of their own. I also learned today that the crows are like humans in that one doesn't bother waiting for another to finish talking before an answer, or possibly a different question, is given. I don't know how they get anything decided when they can't hear each other over all the yelling. Maybe their similarity to humans also includes the propensity our species has to hear ourselves talk and never listen to much. If I didn't need a job that paid me money, I would take my currency in crow stories and follow them around all day. Working in a building seems an enormous waste of energy when time could be spent outside unraveling the mysteries of the local crows.
The rain is supposed to start again tonight. I don't want to see any more rain until the soil is thawed and can absorb some of it. My yard is a mass of spongy puddles and the season of either being wet, muddy, or some combination of both has arrived. But I welcome the mess knowing that soon the world will begin its greening and Spring will be less fickle, choosing to stay for awhile.
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