Ravenwood

Greg Tonian, Class of 2017

Springtime has come to Ravenhood.
Crane flies have been swarming for weeks,
Carcasses strewn throughout the house.
They seem to arrive in a frenzy, then vanish,
Arising from winter’s grasp,
Why in such haste,
Peer pressure to be the first to emerge,
To procreate?
My Peninsula neighborhood,
Home since 2001,
Has experienced another incursion of sorts.
The crows have moved in.
This past year, they became conspicuous,
a striking and often raucous presence,
morning and afternoon,
virtually anywhere in the hood.
I watched them,
And they me,
Though they seemed unconcerned.
I was looking for signs of foreboding,
Unexplained thefts,
Death and chicanery.
I found no evidence of such things. 
Instead, I marveled at their stout solidarity,
Admired their designer quality:
Flint beak,
Glossy, black suits,
Like dapper undertakers or secret service agents.
Graceful and impressive flyers,
Athletic hoppers,
Curious, and meticulous picker uppers,
Expressive, but unthreatening.
Confident and sociable,
I saw no rancor in their ranks,
And they were rarely solitary.
I saw little signs of intra or extra species violence.
Once I saw a crow picking at a “bone”,
Alas, only the “femur” of a dropped lollipop!
This cadre of dapper citizen police,
Has been with us for months,
My constant companions on my twice daily strolls.
I have never determined which are male and which female,
Which are alphas,
Never encountered a nest.
Ravenhood has been a serene place since their arrival,
Or perhaps we have just gotten used to one another.
The grackles have been fewer and quieter,
On their best behavior.
All the other birds go about their business, 
Buzzing Bewick wrens,
Chatty chickadees,
Flirty finches,
Shrieking Blue Jays,
Mockingbirds imitating them all.
Crows on hawk patrol provide extra security.
The Cooper hawks still, infiltrate,
Gray missiles, they pierce through the gauntlet.
There may be two Murders (of Crows) on The Peninsula, 
Yet, no turf war noted.
I have counted as many as 10 crows in one sighting.
Whether on a quiet side street, the main thoroughfare,
Adjacent greenspaces and parks and the Corps of Engineer habitat of the Shoreline Trail,
they can be seen in a loosely knit pack, 
undertaking a variety of tasks,
constantly squawking and talking to each other,
never far from each other’s sight,
but always in hearing distance,
their croaks echoing across the treetops.
Some go low, inspecting the turf, sidewalks and streets.
Some perch in nearby trees or on rooftops,
Surveying and supervising the proceedings.
Out on the Shoreline Trail,
They escape to the wild fringe of suburbia,
Leave behind the manicured, over-watered lawns,
Alley ways, brick and mortar perches.
Perhaps they find a secluded roost, away from the lights,
Hissing sprinkler heads,
Whirring fan blades, motors, and blowers,
For a little peace of mind.
These are intelligent creatures indeed!
They must know every inch of this Peninsula neighborhood by now. 
I should too, having sauntered 11,000 miles or more these past 23 years.
Soon I will be gone,
Leaving the Peninsula to the Crows.
Long live Ravenhood!