The weather is suddenly cold by my standards at least. +1C today was the high and tonight it will drop to -4C. Forecast for the next 10 days is more of the same.
The ravens have been flocking now for a couple weeks. They do that every winter to rustle food in the daylight and roost at night. They will split up in spring again. They mate for life and both parents tend the young of which there may be 5 to 7.
These are North Eurasian ravens, Corvus corax, and are slightly smaller than the Northern Raven of North America, Corvus principalis. Their beak is also shorter and hooked.
I don't think we have crows per se here as the Russian word for raven and crow is the same. Verona or veron. Our birds make a croaking sound rather than a cawing sound.
We also have rooks, Corvus frugilegus, which look like ravens but have a whitish, grey face and bill. I have seen a few but mostly ravens.
All this to introduce a poem I wrote a while back.
The Crow
The crow sat on the
garden fence.
To the world, he
caw’d his discontent.
I watched him
through my windowpane
And wondered that
he would complain.
As his fellows flew
from tree to tree,
“Old Crow”, thought
I, “you are so free.”
Free to wander, free
to fly,
Free to eat or
freeze or die.
No one cares if you
cease to be,
You’ve no
responsibility.
Nothing rests on
what you do.
You see the world
with “bird’s eye” view.
Food and shelter, mates
and friends,
Foes and danger,
your only ends.
You do not ponder
worlds above,
Or mysteries of
life and love.
While I sit trapped
in human skin,
You’re free to caw
and fly again.
The crow sat on the
garden fence;
To the world, he
caw’d his discontent.
I watched him
through my windowpane
Then looked across
the windswept plain,
“Old Crow”, thought
I, “you may be free,
But love’s worth
more than liberty.”
 |
| Alexei Kondratievich Savrasov (1830–1897), Rooks have Returned (1871), oil on canvas, 62 x 48.5 cm, Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow |
There's a great book called Ravens in Winter by Bernd Heinrich, a professor at the University of Vermont. The flocks are groups of young ravens, the ones who fledged last spring. They cooperate in the winter to keep older, more experienced ravens from chasing them away from food. One factoid that intrigued me was how early in the spring ravens hatch eggs -- they time it for when snow levels are dropping so the parents can take advantage of winter-killed deer and other cadavers as it emerges from the melting drifts.
ReplyDeleteThank you for this information. I wish you had left a name.
ReplyDeleteGood poem!
ReplyDeleteAs with southern Maine, hear in the foothills we have numerous crows, but up around the Rangeley Lakes the large Raven is common. These are large birds with wide wingspans and big beaks.
ReplyDeleteAthabaskan Indians pray to the Raven. Check out YouTube: Make Prayers to the Raven. My wife and I spent eight years among the Athabaskan Indians of Alaska.
the Ol'Buzzard
In western Oregon, there are crows but no ravens.
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed the poem and art.
I love your poem - it made me grimace with rueful agreement, then smile at the heartwarming ending. Nicely done. :-)
ReplyDeleteDebra, thank you.
ReplyDeleteOl'Buzzard, the Raven is sacred among the First Nations all down the west coast and features on their totems quite prominently. You had such an interesting life.
Snowbrush, I haven't heard from you in such a long while. Thank you. Are you back blogging again? I hope.
Diane, thank you. Sometimes I am inspired.
"Are you back blogging again? I hope."
ReplyDeleteI've missed you and would like to renew our online friendship. I never stopped blogging, although I blog less than I once did.
Croak!
ReplyDelete