waking to the comfort of Crows' calls
morning wisdom of caw|pause|caw
dear sojourners,
before night ends and light arrives. when Sun stretches one faint finger toward dawn, it begins. the cawing. the prolific Crows that roost in this part of the Pacific NW rouse one another from their slumber. begin sharing their plans for the day before even the House Finches, Dark-eyed Juncos, or Song Sparrows can trill a first song. some might find it annoying, for a Crow’s caw is not melodious to the human ear (a “song” recording is not included in their listing under the Merlin Bird App, just multiple “calls.”) and while i won’t tell you i find it pleasant, i find comfort in their pre-dawn gossip.
then, before Sun reaches a few more finger tips above the horizon all the birds, including Crows, are silent. a ruckus of caws and bird song. and then nothing. a pause. like a well-crafted piece of music that has me leaning into next, there is a whole measure of rest to build anticipation. then the conductor flicks the baton, points to those black, feathered bodies poised, instruments ready in shadowed limbs. Crows start their cawing again, the chorus of the melodious ones join in and dawn is truly awakening.
this time of year my bedroom window is open to welcome faint spring scents. an allowing for what is beyond vision. i turn my face toward the window, curtains still drawn, and listen with my whole body. is there wind stirring? now the Oaks are in full foliage, a rustling of leaves might hint at breezes or rain skipping from leaf to leaf. a ripple of my curtains would confirm stronger winds—a late spring storm pending? how close i gather the covers to my skin announces the temperature outside. my body syncing with the day.
i squeeze my eyes closed, trying to fall back into my pre-waking, looking for that baffling dream in the haze, but the images have faded. the last thing i remember before waking has fallen back into the night, lost to the tug of Crows’ voices. my first wake-up alarm of the day.
i ponder in my drowsiness: what do i want this day to be? how do i want to be present to myself and those i’ll meet? i consider gratitude. i try to not think about peeing. i still have a few minutes before i need to leave my cocoon. i continue to listen to the birds and wonder about their language. what are they saying? and now i hear a few dog walkers chat back and forth as their companions yip and bark. i want to linger in my own pause. a long measure of rest.
there are dawns when Crows convene as a multitude. their cawing bouncing off buildings and hillsides, screeching around street corners, flooding the webbing of screened windows and bombarding ears hidden beneath pillows scrunched around heads. the definition of a cacophony. add to that the garbage trucks’ aching arms lifting, hoisting glass, plastic, paper, and waste. so much waste into their yawing maws. add that to the singing Finches, Juncos, Chickadees, Robins, Sparrows and more. add that to the vrooming of trucks and cars of early workers heading to jobs they love or hate or tolerate. there is no denying morning has broken.
on wee-hour dawns when only two or three Crows are calling forth the Sun, i wonder what is up in Crow-world. was it a particularly grueling night? are they sleeping in? are they laying low because word spread that the Barred Owl i heard earlier is looking for a snack, wanting to prey on their fledglings tucked deep into their camouflaged nests? are they blending their onyx-feathered bodies into the recesses of Pine, Fir, Oak as a defense from being spotted by one who has built-in night vision goggles? so many questions that don’t require an answer. part of the mystery that surrounds the ordinary.
Crows (and all Corvids) are wise wise birds. wiser than humans i think many days. i have been honored to have them cross my path in the places i have lived and visited. they are one of my teachers. they have taught me about death. about being in the liminal space. about grieving and mourning. about being open to mystery. and joy. and, yes, mischievousness.
as i sat down to write this post after a long hiatus, (a hiatus due to working on a presentation that stirred my obsessive need to hone and perfect and, ugh, i wore myself out (buy hey, i learned a lot about myself and that always continual reminder i need about how much room i have to grow…)) i noodled on stories of previous Crow encounters. went down Rabbit Holes about Crows in mythology, folk and fairy tales, Crows as medicine. and then the scientific aspect because wouldn’t you want to know all that! interesting (and perhaps for another post,) but realized i needed to let it go because what i discovered once i wrote all those other words is the essence of this post are the questions i posed to myself:
where are the pause(s) in your day?
how do you make room for a whole measure of rest?
what songs (or caws) do you welcome in as melodies of your heart?
where do you notice the mystery in the ordinary of your day?
i hope to get back to regular posting. missing a month, one gets out of practice. and i’ve missed you!
i hope you have been taking tender care of your hearts,
in gratitude,
anne
ps: if you find pondering about birds (or death) as meaningful as i do, i recommend
. her writing is a exquisite.
This landed deeply within. Perfectly timed read. (((Thank you.)))