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Post by Don Schaeffer on May 30, 2012 10:29:25 GMT -5
Crows kept us up all night, mass of them with their chalky cries like laughter masking their feelings from bone-hard mouths. They are fierce looking birds, black cold-yellow beads in their eye sockets.
Next morning we find an adolescent crow flopping around in the English Ivy, trying to fly with wings flattened against the leaves. Over the day the youth pulls itself into the protection of the trees and bushes.
High up the family cries and calls him, the gathering clan laugh calling, conversing high in the branches. In their bone bound faces, We are here.
Note: We called a volunteer animal welfare group in the morning and they came and took the crow away for treatment. It is just hard to imagine a row being helpless.
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