Crows and a Poem

Living  for a number of years a bird and animal lover, I learned to appreciate the nature show available around the bird feeders — a show that was a delight for the grandchildren and free entertainment for me.

After my husband died, though, bird feeding ceased to be free entertainment.  It required regular cleaning and filling of the feeders and daily hosing down of the deck.  Since neighbors to either side of my house had bird feeders, I decided this was a job I could let go of.  My bird feeding reduced to throwing out table scraps for the crows who roosted in the tree line just up hill.  They never pooped on the deck and they reliably cleaned up the scraps every morning.

I thought I might miss the crows when I moved into town.  Ha! Maybe they decided to follow me to my new place?  Crows are intelligent.  You can see how intelligent HERE.  Bernd Heinrich’s Mind of the Raven (1999)  is also a fascinating read about bird brains.


Dark shadow passes by my window
pulling my gaze with magnetic force
toward a gray lit morning sky.

I scan the early stillness, slow
to readjust my inner gaze,
searching for what passes by.

My heart knots near my throat.
The shadow condenses.
Upper branch of a dying pine
bows low then rises, as if in wind,
comes to stillness.

And there it is — the crow, shiny and black,
imperially perched at the tree top.
I watch her survey the world:

Head sweeping left and right, left and back,
her voice a raucous portending.
I let my fear release its hold.

Her magic comes from a higher view,
winged totem of knowing and change.
Even at this distance, her eyes pierce mine.
I accept her measured counsel
with open heart.

Olga Hebert
November 9, 2016

If you would like to befriend a crow or two of your own, they really, really like unsalted peanuts in the shell.  They won’t turn their beaks up at grains, seeds and nuts of any kind, egg yolks, pasta — pretty much anything.  Just don’t be so generous they forget how to forage.


5 thoughts on “Crows and a Poem

  1. I have to beat the doves off with a stick so I don’t think I’ll invite the crows. You are right though. The bird feeder is the sight of wonderful doings, noise and color. I


  2. Your poem accurately reflects, the anxiety that a flying crow can engender…what’s that? Oh just a crow. Lovely poem. My wife is very fond of crows.


  3. I love crows, and have since I was a child. We had huge windows in our school. A boy had a trained crow that would fly into the classroom and steal pencils. I’d love to feed crows but squirrels also love unsalted peanuts in the shell and they destroy my plants and patio furniture.

    Liked by 1 person

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