One of these little guys has been hanging out in the dogwood tree outside my study window, plucking the last of the berries, then flitting up to the high branches of the pine to catch the sun. He spent a good ten minutes going back and forth this morning before heading deeper into the woods.
Three crows stroll along
the dirt road: adolescents
with somewhere to go.
no doubt, but they let you know
they’re in no hurry.
Sunlight sheens their backs
& they are comfortable
muttering their dark joy.
The first chickadees have returned from their alpine summer range in the High Peaks to our foorhills. For the last several days I’ve been watching one of them, who sits on the powerline that runs from the road to the house, flitting methodically between this steady perch & the small blue berries of the dogwood that grows outside my study window. He’s such a tough little bugger.
I had read something previously about this research into the fact that crows can recognize individual humans, but this is a more extended account. A couple of months ago up at the Blue Mountain Center, I wrote three poems about crows — we had a noisy resident group who entertained me through the afternoons, congregating in the Jack Pines near my window. Reminders that we humans share the world with many other intelligences & perceivers.