There’s a welcome chill in the air signaling a change of season. Now cool dew greets my parched feet when I emerge in the morning. Bits of moisture cling to leaves and a slow zephyr crosses low to the ground. The cock sings goodbye to the diminished moon, the light now red, now golden as the sun asserts himself. A lone cocky zigs across the open field, a flock of western ringneck parrots squeakasizes across the orchard, and a noisy mob of crows are hanging around. I’m not really sure of their business. They have been harassing the guinea fowl, whose numbers are mysteriously down. I’ve been wondering if they work in concert with the foxes, possibly stalking and pinpointing the domesticated birds and helping the foxes to hunt them? By abetting the hunt, I surmise, they might then get to participate in a feed Occasionally I’ve seen both fox and crow together...
When it comes to observing birds my observations are woefully incomplete. If only I could fly! Or at least situate myself high in a strategically positioned marri. Nature drops hints, I work on my attentiveness, and I infer. But it’s mostly conjecture. My observations are in proportion to the amount of time I spend aware outdoors. I try to be out as much as I can, but I’m often preoccupied. Preoccupation is an enemy of observation. I try to listen to the birdcalls as a way of refocusing my awareness. In this system, birdcall translates as “look up!”.
As for the crows, they are around, and in force. When I go to the orchard to check on the chickens, they swoop away with a whoosh of wind through outstretched feathers. One remains behind, perched high in a tree as lookout, scrutinizing and commenting. Crows are very smart. They observe, remember and talk about it. They are always on the job. Their gain, my loss. Over the past few months they’ve discovered some secret outdoor laying spots and have carried off eggs. I’ve found eggshells in the vineyard. Cheeky things, leaving calling cards where I’ll find them...