PERSONAL ESSAY
The Trapped Crow
I found myself blacklisted by a species
They made a terrible ruckus.
For a month or so, a small murder of crows, say a manslaughter of them, had settled in my east-facing rain gutter, apparently deciding it was a cool place to hang out.
Since they didn’t hurt anything I didn’t mind, could do with the company, to be honest. Off and on they got loud, but never “get out of here” loud. Just bickering crows having a laugh.
Then, a while back, they made, for them, an unusually boisterous ruckus. On and on and on. Screaming. Something’s up.
I finally looked out, but wearing my reading (as opposed to driving, long-distance) glasses I couldn’t quite make out what was going on. So I stepped out and off my porch to investigate.
Five or six crows had gathered by my wooden fence and were now flapping and screaming as if the world was ending. I approached, and as I did all but one took to the air, still screaming. The remaining crow continued flapping but went nowhere, and no screaming. Eying the approaching human with not a little distrust.
As I got closer, I could see why he never took off. He was trapped.
