They came in a fury. A hundred black crows beating the air with two hundred black wings. The sound was like twenty freshly laundered sheets pinned to a clothes line and flapping in the wind.
The crows settled in the top of a towering tree, bobbing on the tip of every available branch.
Then the racket started. Crows squawking at one another, from one branch to another, drowning out every other sound of the day. It was like being in a gymnasium just before a basketball game where the kids at the top of the bleachers are shouting to their friends at the bottom of the bleachers.
They continued for fifteen minutes, chattering excitedly with all of the latest crow gossip. A hundred crows carry a lot of news.
Then they were gone, flapping wings and rising from the tree in a single black swarm.
And quiet returned to the day.
No comments:
Post a Comment