Eating Crow

The commotion outside started when I was on the phone. 

I had the impression of turkeys sounding off and a cacophony of crows. 

When my conversation ended, I looked out the windows to determine the cause of the ruckus. 

It wasn't hard to find. 

The turkeys had fled, and not far off, a hawk was on the ground with a crow pinned under him. 

A murder of crows perched in the trees overhead 

and swooped down toward the hawk and their downed brother, 

trying to distract the aggressor from his victim. 

It looked bad for the crow.

At first I saw no signs of life from the form on the bottom of the heap, 

but then, suddenly, a struggle ensued. 

There was  a jumble of flapping wings and feathers with the hawk all the while on top. 

From the sound of it, they had been at this for a while. 

I know hawks are beautiful, and crows are, well, crows, but in the middle of the fight, 

strangely, I found myself rooting for the crow. 

There's something about the underdog.

As I watched, caught up in the natural drama in front of me, there was a lull in their exertion, 

both of them laying still, like a short stack of pancakes at Cookies' Restaurant. 

And then, amazingly, the crow struggled free and flew away.

It may have been my imagination, but I thought the hawk looked a bit chagrinned, 

glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. 

Then he shook himself, raised his wings, and sailed off over the trees.

It's quite possible, I suppose, that this fight was not about a meal at all, but just a brawl, 

the hawk teaching the crow a lesson. 

After all, nobody really wants to eat crow.

Linking with Weekly Top Shot
Wild Bird Wednesday
and Saturday's Critters

Three Tenors

It's cold out, and a few snow flakes have been flying through the air today.

There's no doubt, however, that it's spring; the wild turkey gobblers are displaying for the hens,

although, for the most part, the hens seem underwhelmed.

The big birds pivot slowly, almost on tip-toe, flaunting their beauty, 

catching the light on their iridescent feathers...

and then, all together, lean forward and let loose their loud and distinctive gobble.

Move over Pavarotti. 

Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

and Weekly Top Shot

Early Vernal Noon

A crocus appears

that wasn't here yesterday--

today's lunch special.

Linking with Weekly Top Shot and Saturday's Critters

Blush of Spring

It always starts with the Spring Peepers. Some years those small frogs begin announcing the passing of winter timidly, one or two at a time, tuning up for early rehearsals. But a week ago, when the last patches of snow lay scattered on the ground, a full chorus of peepers started singing simultaneously from the pond, as if they had been practicing in secret for that day.

The cardinals heard it, and the next morning one male started his cadence while it was still dark, "wet, wet, wet, wet" over and over, staking out his territory. As dawn broke, the air became saturated with bird song, sounding glorious after a quiet winter. 

Deer have been browsing on new tufts of clover that sprung up overnight, and Harbinger of Spring and Bluet, those diminutive wildflowers, carpet the ground. Overhead, geese are winging their way back north.

Soft showers fell all day yesterday and on through the night, stimulating a green blush from the fields and lawns.

Springtime comes again, new every year, yet ancient, from the hand of the One who made all creatures, and, with the others, we lift a song of gratitude.

  

“But ask the animals, and they will teach you,

    or the birds in the sky, and they will tell you;

or speak to the earth, and it will teach you,

    or let the fish in the sea inform you.

Which of all these does not know

    that the hand of the Lord has done this?

In his hand is the life of every creature

    and the breath of all mankind.

Job 12:7-10

Ask the Lord for rain in the springtime;

it is the Lord who makes the storm clouds.

He gives showers of rain to men,

and plants of the field to everyone.

Zechariah 10:1

Linking with Saturday's Critters