Seen, always.

in Photography Loverslast year (edited)

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The crows cry in the distance. Circle a tree in large numbers. Something is happening. Could be a shaming. Owl, maybe. Or raccoon. Predator harassment. It works, you know. Makes the bastards think twice before messing with crows.

Everyone goes to see. The crows fly. We walk, me and the dog.

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I'm not expecting a hawk. Red-tailed Hawk. Not so late in the day. Not at sunset.

In the branches of a leafless tree the hawk grips a lifeless bird.

This bird is a crow.

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Dozens of crows circle overhead. Dive-bomb the bird of prey. Cry out with heart-wrenching emotion. It's a mixture, the things I feel, gazing up at this scene. Some of it is awe. Never have I seen nor expected ever to see an adult crow in the clutches of a bird of prey. Fears realized. An amazing feat. For the hawk, I feel compassion, maybe. Or detached understanding. Everyone needs to eat. This is the way of life. The rules of Earth. For the crows, I feel... overwhelm. Deep feelings yet to be processed. Screaming. One of their own. Death. Fear. I want to scream, too.

A passerby wants to see what I see. I point out the hawk. He makes asshat comments about wishing he had a shotgun. Says he can't stand crows, that they annoy him. I stare hard into his eyes. Hard enough to knock him over. Tell him fiercely that I love the crows, that I am friends with them, that I have strong bonds with them. He yammers out the kinds of sentences asshats yammer out when they feel intimidated and dumb for saying asshat things to an attractive woman who is point-blank acknowledging the ass he is wearing on top of his head to keep what few brains he has from freezing in the frigid air and under my icy stare.

He is a waste of my energy. I turn and walk away from him in mid yammer and don't look back.

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More screaming. In the fading light I peer up, hoping to see the crow's face. Hoping not to. I beg the universe not to let this be a crow I know. Not to let it be one of this year's babies. Not to let it be the Chicken baby, whom I just christened today as Moose. Please don't let it be Moose. Moose who looks just like his big brother, Hopper. Tweenaged Moose, who, in the dregs of autumn, still begs his parents to feed him. Please don't let it be Moose.

It's dark, I can't tell who the dead crow is.

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The hawk is huge. Even bigger when seen in contrast to my glossy dead friend pinned under giant yellow feet. I think she is female. She wears rust-colored downy winter trousers. She is magnificent. And I hate her.

She makes to fly away. The crows swoop in thick, threatening, throwing insults, crying. Eventually she gets ahead of the crowd, takes to the air. A salmon-colored sky frames her silhouette. Giant wingspan. Effortless flight. She clings tightly to her prey, crows swirling and scolding and grieving in a cloud all around her. Chasing her.

"Yeah, get that fucker!" I shout into the air. I chase after her, too. Carry my little dog so as not to drag him.

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The hawk takes shelter in a pine. Here she can feed, safely nestled in the branches. The crows wail. I watch. It's all that we can do. None of us can stop what has already happened.

I hold my dog in my arms. He trembles. He knows the crows' voices. Knows their calls. Knows that this is significant.

Black feathers float to the ground as the hawk tears into her dinner.

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Walking back toward home one crow spots us. He circles out of the crowd. Lands on a branch nearby. In the dark I can't see who it is, but no matter. He knows us. I put food on the ground. Talk to him. He is shaken. I give him space. When I am half a block away, he comes down to collect the food. Takes it back up to the tree.

I am raw. Unsettled. Wishing I hadn't seen what I had but grateful to be there with the crows, to share their fear and grief. I talk to my dog. Explain my gratitude over not living each day in fear of losing one another to a predator. I think he understands. I take him to his favorite store. Buy him a toy. At home we gorge ourselves on good food. Sit in front of a warm heater. Lap eggnog from mugs and platters. Feel what we feel. Love one another.

Tomorrow we get up early. Head out to count beaks. Look for everyone we know. Look for Moose.

It's going to be a long night.


The story takes place in Portland, but these crows were photographed in San Diego with my Nikon D7500.


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I hope it wasn't one of your crow family! If the trigger-happy dude grew up farming, I know there is a cultural animosity toward the black birds, but I don't know how destructive crows really are, and I don't like just shooting critters for the fun of it.

The birds that I see rarely but hear more often are ravens with a much deeper croaking caw. Not like the caw, caw of the crows that lurk near the library.

This thought leads to a random tangent. If I were to lure you into the horrible hobby of Warhammer 40,000, I think I know which Space Marine legion you would choose. The primarch is literally (lazily?) named Corvus Corax! Of course, the proper way to read about anything isn't through serious fan wikis, though. You need to also be introduced to it via the cesspool of hobby hilarity.

I'm really not sure how destructive crows are, either, but I know that humans certainly destroyed their habitat. We don't see the crows complaining, though, just adapting. I also read an article saying that crows are more likely to eat the bugs in a corn crop than they are to eat the corn. This was one single article based on research that I have not read but have decided that it is the mighty backbone for my belief system that crows can do no wrong. If you think about it, really, they don't do any wrong. It's all Nature. The only ones really doing any wrong are those that believe themselves to be separate from her. But that's a whole 'nother can of tangents.

Ravens are rad. The crows always drive them out of town, here, though. And if I was into stuff like Ravenhammer 40,000 I would definitely be the great C. Corax.

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Let us not forget how much birds poop.

Those reminders about the lives of the wild things... I often see the pied crows at my place robbing the bird's nests and their were a pair of Spotted Eagle owls hunting in the neighbour's palm tree the other night. Then my pack of predators that regularly kill birds, lizards and snakes over and above the rats and mice...

yeah... everyone eats everyone else... I have a friend who hates jays "because they eat hummingbird eggs." But she loves crows. When I told her that crows also eat hummingbird eggs, she didn't believe me.

I sometimes think the worst crime is me eating meat that I really don't know the origins of. Chickens crammed in a pen with no daylight, cows mucking around a yard through their own shit, pigs in a pen they can't even turn around in. Maybe I'll start eating hummingbird eggs and hawks and ignorant neighbors... At least then I'll know where my food is coming from.

This is so well written @corvidae, just grabbed my entire attention without a pause.

Of course, you already know I love your photos. The first one with that soft warm colour in the background just makes the crow pop out, plus the composition. Fourth, fifth and last photos....is this "Strike a Pose"? Sure looks like some mighty fine prancing. 😂

Awww thanks! I needed to share it, glad it came across well.

I think that crow is doing the San Diego Shuffle.

I like "need to share it", keep that flowing!

San Diego Shuffle, lol, that crow totally puts me to shame.

It's actually not too hard a dance. You just put your arms behind you, lean back a little, and kinda do a straight-legged slow-motion half-cancan in the direction of something edible on a sunny day in the southwest.

That's what you say, but not what my body does, lol. Sounds like a recipe for me to break some bones. Crows are far better suited to such.

Yeah, if a crow stumbles she just opens her wings and flies away instead of crashing into the ground like us flightless human lugs... still, I think the dance looks good in boots.

I want wings to fly in the sky. Thanks for reminding me of a lifelong wish, lol. I am willing to bet you'd look good in boots doing that dance and not face plant like I would.

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Mother Nature is cruel, and I'm sorry you had to see that, but regrettably that's the way things are, said a person sobbing while watching animal survival on National Geographic.

I have days where I feel like I can accept the way of nature completely, and then days like yesterday where I want to rally for corvid rights and hold a murder trial for that hawk. All while simultaneously appreciating that hawk's right to eat a good meal and how hard we've made hunting for her in the city and how easy we make life for our crows...

Let's cry into our muffin-shaped desserts while watching NatGeo together.