A murder occurs two or three times a day in my neighborhood.
A murder of crows, that is.
The caw of a crow is the first bird call that I learned as a child. Three or four crows assemble in my backyard tree two or three times a day.
Invariably, it takes me back to a time when my grandparents had a trailer house at Grand Lake. There were many crows in my great aunt’s lake resort called “Shady Heights.” I remember that, especially in the mornings, crows would be cawing for what seemed to be for hours.
When I hear the crows in my yard, it makes me smile for it transports me back over 50 years ago, when everyone I loved was still alive.
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Rick