Crows

23 Oct Crows

They see me with dogs, pram and often a man before I see them. “Arrrrhhh, arrrhhh, arrrhhh!” They fly down from high territorial perches – the pylon, oak tree or planes by the Old River Lea. The first wave announce my arrival with more calls, then hop from foot to foot excitedly on the ground. Two or three stand on top of the goal post in a row. Their heads bob down and up again with each call. I bring suet or seeds and sometimes a special treat like popcorn. They are especially fond of pasta. There are around 30 crows in my regular crowd, but when the whole ‘Marshes Murder’ come there are up to 120 birds. I welcome their smart beady-eyed corvid appearance. Feathers – some tatty, mottled, a little threadbare – swoop in, take sudden flight if I move too fast. I welcome these shape-shifting portents of death and change. I come most days and in the cold months they bless my offerings with their community and their calls of acknowledgement “Arrrhhh, arrrhhh, arrrhhh!”