One morning, on my usual walk to work. A raven in the trees. Making such beautiful sounds. Magical lovely sounds. Tingling sensation sounds. And then he flew over, carrying a twig. Ah, nest maintenance. And those exquisite sounds surely for his lady.
Standing still. Watching. Waiting. Rewarded. The raven flew to his nest in the top of a tree. So close to the path and easy to see. Such a large bird. The bough laden with raven.
I’ll be watching that nest avidly. Hoping for a glimpse of raven chick. Who will undoubtedly be watching me, from the top of their bendy swaying tree.
On valentine morning I laughed as a song thrush sang ‘wit-woo’, as I passed by his tree. It was my only valentine of the day.
I came upon a corvid war. Magpies versus crows. Eight magpies versus three crows. I don’t know what the crows had done. But the magpies were mad. Eight magpies making their raucous call, but in a loud and angry manner, is quite a thing to hear. The crows looked sheepish and kept quiet. The magpies all around them screaming their corvid abuse. Eventually, they slowly dispersed. Still calling the odd blasphemous curse as they went on their disgruntled way. How I would love to know what naughty bird crimes those three crows had committed.
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