CACOPHONY OF CROWS: While taking my dog for an early morning walk during last week’s rains, the sky overhead erupted in an explosion of crows. Swirling above us was a frenzied upwelling of angry, agitated birds. The crows would descend en masse upon one of two nearby trees. They would swarm from the branches of one to the branches of the other and back again. It was unclear what they hoped to achieve. Another dog walker pointed to the telephone pole that jutted up between the two trees; the body of a solitary crow hung limply down. Somehow, the bird got zapped by a transformer at the top. A steady beam of black smoke poured from its carcass.
The smoke never stopped.
I’d been in a grim mood at the time and found the display perversely uplifting. At least crows looked out for each other, I thought. When one bit the dust, they all grieved. And they testified — loudly and defiantly — about the injustice of it all. I didn’t see any crows shrugging, as if to say, “What are you going to do?”