This evening I stepped out the back door to feed the animals before tucking them in for the night, and I was met with an amazing sight: dozens upon dozens of crows flying over the back yard, swooping, squawking and following their ancient instincts to flock together before darkness settled the land. I stood watching, the gusts of wind blowing my hair, as the endless line of birds flew into the distance only to be replaced with more birds, coming from away.
This was not the first time I saw this number of crows fly over our property coming on dusk. It seems to be a regular occurrence these days. Two days ago while working at the new fence, my mind completely immersed in hitting the nail on the head and not my finger, I had looked up and saw the sky filled with the black birds.
They had come on so suddenly and so silently that they took me by surprise. I stopped my work and watched as the murder of crows flew past, onward to some unknown to me place.
I can only assume that the crow tree—the group of trees to which this murder flocks at night—is nearby. It must be new since I’ve seen the crows fly in the distance at dusk to some point far away, but never this close.
Some might think it an omen. Others might ignore the common birds. I think it is an amazing sight, one that reminds me of how smart crows really are, and how, after all these centuries, they still flock together.