That late-autumn smell of wet moss, leaf mould, and freeze-thawed streambank mud, lightly peppered with an American crow’s shrill cant.
crow
Sunday April 07, 2019
Mid-morning, and it’s already too warm for a sweater. I count six, seven, eight bird calls blending into one—except for the crow’s off note.
Tuesday March 26, 2019
After a cold night, the gift of clarity: a mote of drifting cattail down visible at 100 yards. A raven croaking on high is echoed by a crow.
Sunday February 10, 2019
Cold and still. The clouds thicken so slowly, it’s impossible to say in which minute the sun goes in. A crow gives a single, strangled cry.
Tuesday November 20, 2018
Colder than yesterday, but also brighter. Just as the sun comes out, a snow flurry blows in, silencing a nearby crow.