A few days ago, Mr Dog and I came across a murder of crows. I counted over 30 in the lawn and branches of two trees. I stopped to observe and wonder where they had come from and why were they all gathered there. Mr. Dog was more interested in the squirrel in the tree and I watched as he scampered around a tree filled with crows.
Then there was a commotion and the crows took flight. My eyes caught a bit of brown, different wing shape among the dark flying birds. I remembered the neighborhood hawk. Could s/he be here among the crows? My eyes scanned the tree branches, and yes! there! I saw her mottled brown. Boy did she look beautiful. Feathers were shiny. Well fed. Not a scrawny hawk here.
But what was going on with this murder of crows? Some wildlife drama was being played out.
In my brief observation of the scene, I saw several bursts of flights. I watched the hawk go after a crow like a fighter pilot shooting it's target. I saw the crows dive bomb the hawk. And finally they would all resettle, crows in trees on the grass, the hawk in a nearby tree, devoid of crows.
When I lived in rural america I didn't watch these scenes play out so clearly in my forested backyard. But here, in West Hollywood, I've got a front row seat each morning.
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