A MURDER OF CROWS by Terri Hinte

 This week I want to share a post by Terri Hinte, who inspires me to write 

about the hidden depth of ordinary things.

artwork by Martha Slavin

by Terri Hinte

A blessing during the current nightmare has been the opportunity to leave my desk and my four walls, at will, for a spell in the garden. Pulling weeds focuses the mind even as it makes room for beauty and for previously crowded seedlings to thrive. The Sombreuil climbers in the front yard are exploding with fragrant white roses, while in the back I scan the yard in anticipation of graceful oak leaf hydrangea blooms. A mass of volunteer nasturtiums provides a colorful carpet in the center of the space.

The verdigris birdbath is my favorite focal point. Tucked alongside a tall abutilon that boasts pale orange, bell-shaped flowers year-round, it's a popular spot for resident birds as well as those passing through. When the water is fresh and plentiful, the birds arrive--towhees and finches and titmice, sometimes as many as 8 or 10, splashing vigorously and fluffing their feathers in obvious pleasure. I usually spy on them from my close-by bedroom window, as does Claude, my young cat.

Three days ago, I happened to see Claude at the window, and from the wide-eyed expression on his face and his tense body language I knew that something was afoot.

It was a crow. In the birdbath. Joined in short order by a second. They seemed absurdly large in the basin, and I worried they might scare off the regular customers.

by Martha Slavin

After a few minutes, they flew off to the top of the redwood tree in the adjoining yard, which afforded them a 360-degree view of the neighborhood. I went outside to examine the birdbath and discovered peanut shells they'd left behind--my crow-crazy neighbor across the street feeds the crows daily, calling them with her own mad caws, and peanut shells turn up everywhere. I cleaned up the premises, ready for the next group of bathers.

Day 2, a repeat: one crow lands in the bath, soon to be joined by a second. They talk amongst themselves and eat their peanuts, casting off the shells in the water.

Day 3, ditto. This time I watched as one crow, then the other, held a shelled peanut in its beak and bent over to dip the treat in the water--a great big dipping bowl.

by Martha Slavin

It occurred to me that, in such dreadful times, these visitations might be an omen. "Wherever crows are, there is magic," writes Ted Andrews in Animal-Speak. "They are symbols of creation and spiritual strength. They remind us to look for opportunities to create and manifest the magic of life. They are messengers calling to us about the creation and magic that is alive within our world every day and available to us."

I'm choosing to welcome my crow visitors--a nesting pair?--as companions and inspirations. I'm happy to tidy up after them. I'm at their service.

by Martha Slavin

Terri Hinte is a Richmond-based jazz  publicist. She has been a member of Elizabeth Fishel's Oakland Writers Group (as I have ) since 1993.  Check out her website here:  https://www.terrihinte.com/home

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I used photos from the photographic archives of BBC, Wikipedia, and Discover Wildlife as reference for these paintings of crows.  To make the paintings shimmer, I first coated the paper with metallic acrylic paint. The child's garden came from my imagination.