When I heard the sound, I knew to run. Not for cover, but for the clothes line. The last of the five loads of laundry I had washed were still hanging on the line. This woodlot on a hill where I am, was once named Crow Hill. For good reason. The oak forest that hides this place is home to legions of crows. In the fall, thousands of birds pass through, hour by hour, making their way through the tall thick canopy of oaks. I wonder if they are drawn here to feed, or if it is chance that the route passes this way. The trees are full of acorns. While here, we strategically park our cars in open spots, away from the falling missiles that C is sure can dent the cars. For now, I’ll stick to the indoors until they pass by.
Today there is another migration, of knitters and spinners on their way to Rhinebeck. Do you suppose the residents there say, "lock your doors and windows, stay inside, they’re coming, again."
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12 responses to “migration”
That’s probably *exactly* what they say!
I never knew that crows migrated but I should have known because of the quiet in the air.
See you during our migration.
I’ll be migrating shortly to your place!
whah, have fun at rhinebeck, i’ll miss seeing you!
ahhhh…a flock of another kind….
…the “pilgrimage to the mecca” begins…
hope to see you there!
That is funny. I was driving a distance this weekend and I was ‘nailed’ I mean NAILED..super gross…a moving car at 75 and a bird WAY up in the air…what are the odds?
It was great meeting you yesterday, even if we did get separated by the line of coffee drinkers….. (grin).
It was great meeting you yesterday, even if we did get separated by the line of coffee drinkers….. (grin).
Sorry to miss you this weekend.
Hope you made it to the laundry on time. Ewww…. I bet some people do run and hide when the knitters invade!
Crows, seagulls and pigeons. All excellent reasons to run for it. Hope you made it on time!
I can’t wait to see your photos of Rhinebeck and if your sweater made it off the needles on time.
Great mental picture of the bombs and the clothesline. We are listening to the voice of experience.