When the crows lifts a wing I can hear the distinct rustling of each feather. There's a whisk, brush, crispness to the sound, oddly weighted even though the crow is perhaps 15 ounces.
I had gathered acorns yesterday and placed them on the mantle as a gift.
This morning he scattered them, seemingly oblivious, doing one of his double hops.
A few moments ago he smartly snapped his wing for attention.
Yes, I asked.
Say, he said, I've an idea, let's go bowling today.
I can't. Bellie is going to the groomer and I'll be working.
His wings droop with hurt.
I flick one of the acorns beneath his feet as he hops and he laughs merrily.
Do it again, he shouts, Again! Again!
I roll another acorn towards his feet.
This is how we bowl.
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