Cold and still as the last few yellow-bellied clouds sail off. A fast raven chase goes over, trailing metallic shrieks. The sun clears the ridge and all the trees don their blue shadows.
Quiet except for the wingbeats of a raven. When the icy breeze dies, my breath begins to freeze to my glasses. Sun-sparkles in the snow fall victim to a bank of clouds.
Dawn. A raven emerges from a tall pine near the powerline, croaking and circling until his mate joins him. How is the wind this morning? Evidently just right.
Gloomy and still for the opening day of regular firearms season for deer. Every ten minutes or so, another boom. A raven flies over with another in close pursuit emitting what sounds like harsh laughter.
Mostly cloudy with a cold wind. Several ravens are having a noisy conclave in the treetops, their high, harsh vocals bringing in a pair of crows, who offer commentary from a safe distance.