A moody November afternoon and I’m at a local shopping center where I usually go to use the ATM, market, or post office, or meet up with friends at Starbucks. But today the primary feature is the sycamore trees—and what’s flying around in them.
I’ve been studying and photographing these trees for several years now, and I’ve got my favorites. Especially the one near the main entrance with two craggy vertical branches bent parallel, rather like the tines of a bent tuning fork. All the trees are beautiful, though, as are their shadows on the shingled roofs or outlined in sun or against clouds.
On this showery, gray day, the leaves have been falling for a couple of weeks so trunks and branches are sharply outlined. Here and there stand dark brown lamp posts, some newly wrapped in fake evergreens and Christmas lights. Puddles keep transforming and fracturing their reflections, especially when cars swish through, the tires setting slow ripples in motion. 
From where we’ve just been shopping, I spot my husband looking for me. Waving, I catch his eye, and he starts toward me.
Then we hear. . . then we see: crows! At first just a few, then a vast flock. Flappy, vigorous birds, they range around all over, cawing raucously; groups take over whole trees, claim roofs. Solitary black bodies select personal branches, pairs fly in tandem; all swoop freely about. 
Exclaiming to myself, I grab my camera and take image after image. No one but Andy or I seems to notice the birds. 
I catch a duo, then a barbershop quartet of crows, now some squawky nonet or mixed ensemble. The notion of harmony doesn’t obtain; what does is a vocal, “everybody’s got a voice” presence that keeps changing. Their cawing meets my ears as raggedy bursts of sound, rangy conversations in another language. 
The crows keep grouping, regrouping. The flock veers from tree to tree, takes over the ridgepoles of buildings. Gradually, though, they tend west, the flock traipsing its branchy way out of the shopping center.
Now the clouds move—sudden sun—and one of my favorite trees flashes golden. 
I look down: its reflection, then a leaf. 
All this!—trees, crows, and water—added up to one of those chance encounters with nature that happen in spite of parking lots and errands and lists. In its way the experience seemed as momentous as an eclipse or some seldom-seen conjunction of stars or planets. For during that half hour, I flew with the birds, I soared and swooped and cawed! I followed every spur-of-the- moment path, every “Let’s do it!” flight. My exhilaration lasted all the rest of the day, and for several days afterward.
As for my photos, the images veered between blotches and patches of trees, with branches outlined like spidery, craggy scrawls. The crows looked inked, outlined as though on twig-charts, the sky an irregular graph paper that kept adjusting to all their changes.
Making the most of whatever was presented, they offered a great example of keeping at it, using chances, and trying things every which way. That November afternoon, they transformed a place I normally appreciate for its trees only, in fact rather contemplatively.
By now, though, you may be wondering, what’s my point? The beauty of the trees, the reflections in the puddles, or the excitement of the crows? Surely I can’t have them all.
Oh, yes, I can. I understand what the raspy crow voices are telling me, Pick up your claws and fly! Find out! Be alive to what is out there, to life around you. Don’t miss a thing!
Magnificent and weird! Jack and I often host crow conventions in a tall eucalyptus tree outside our kitchen window. The racket they make is a little spooky.
And the fractured puddle pictures they throw off are nature’s Picassos. Beautiful!
I bet you see lots of birds generally, from the descriptions you’ve given of your yard. Yup, the crows do make a racket and take over! Sally
Lovely phots and I also just love crows. Saw them in rather traditional fall views. They were in fields of mown down corn with bits of the plants still yellow and crows in the fields back in the gently rolling hills of Connecticut.
I remember a friend from Naples Italy telling me how he got so mad at some crows one early morning that he threw a candle at them. They ate it.
I love the candle story! (And I bet they suffered no ill effects at it, either!) I find them fascinating birds. Sally
Your stories always lift my spirits and remind me to look around and take notice of the things we just take for granted.. thank you Sally!
Thank YOU, Irene — Sally
Lovely and Thought Provoking! Thanks! Tina
Do you get flocks like this in your area, Tina? I know there are plenty of woods there and your yard is wonderfully sheltered for them.
Best to you and Ross! Sally
Beautiful and thought-provoking. I love the crow quartet!
Thank you, Barbara — and lovely to hear from you! Yes, the quartet arranged itself perfectly!
Best to you and Rick these days — Sally
You conjure more magic in the ordinary. Thank you!
Thank YOU, Marlene — I hope you’re both doing well these days- Sally
Wow, that’s lovely. I’m always aware of the crows, but not as much of the leaves. I also like your use of the word “obtain”. I’ve been aware that many people are not aware of this proper use, ever since my dad was not allowed to use it that way at work because his boss didn’t know what it meant in that context. I’ve read that crows travel in family groups, but I have to wonder, when the groups get up to a couple hundred, do they really have that many “sisters and cousins and aunts”, to misquote Gilbert and Sullivan, or is it different family groups coalescing?
Any chance I could share this with my birding and/or writing groups? If so, how would I go about doing that?
If this flock were a family, or if families were subsets of it all, I sure I couldn’t tell.
As for sharing, I’d be honored and delighted if you’ll spread the word on my website — I think that’s the best way to do it. Thank you, Janet — Sally