American Crow, Corvus brachyrhynchos
Outside my bedroom window every morning, the air battles of WWI are reenacted. Heralds of the rising new day to the extreme–crows start screaming at each other when dawn is only a hint on the horizon, the sun hasn’t yet unfurled a single ray. Winging through the trees, they chase each other and let loose the loudest, ear-shattering caws you’ve ever heard. You’d think their wings were on fire. I like birds; I even like crows, but goodness, I wish they’d dial it down.
Roosters are so much more sensible. They cock-a-doodle-do as the sun peeks over the horizon, and having had their moment, roosters go about their business harassing the hens or whatever roosters do when they’re off the clock. Crows, on the other hand, have conniptions all the way until sunlight fills the sky–at least half an hour of throat-ripping caws and hysterical cackling. What do you call a group of crows? A cacophony.
The Foreigner rewrite, 9,609. A little progress made yesterday. Now I’ve come to the name-day celebration scene. Having trouble deciding on whose point of view, but i think it’ll be Fanh-Daole’s. No work done today–too much monkey mind.