Early morning, outside with Nicholas, the air chilled and full of the sound of crows. I'm sitting in a chair while Nicholas wanders and sniffs. Pull out my phone and am looking at the weather app.
Through the shatter of crow sound, suddenly, just above me is a thud at the edge of the roof, and now something drops, fast, past my head, and lands on the concrete just an inch or two away from Nicholas.
He sniffs at it. I look up: edge of the roof and sky above.
A crow swoops out from somewhere above the roof, passes above me, and lands on the edge of the roof of the studio a few feet away.
Did a crow just try to drop a pinecone on my dog?
Now more crows are trading places across the yard: the roof, the arbor, the fence post. I pick up the pinecone and set it on the table. I figure we might as well head inside, and as I gather Nicholas up and turn toward the door, the crows are already dropping one by one onto the grass. I go in, close the door, and head up the steps, then stop and look out the window as the mirthful murder, all cackle and flutter, close in around and dive into our small offering of last night's chunk of leftover birthday cake from my dessert plate, devour it in moments, and are gone.
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