(39) If Only In Our Dreams

Raven of my nightly dreams,
Man links your name with plots and schemes.
Their hearts are really jealous!
You're all they'll never be.
Your dark eyes can recognize
What they can never see.
You've seen their greed in farmer's fields,
in scarecrows stuffed with hay.
They begrudge you any morsel,
and chase your kin away.
You've seen how fickle they can be.
They capture things that God made free.
Dogs and horses,
Cows and steers,
Man keeps as slaves for all their years.
Then once their usefulness is gone,
Man kills them all,
And just goes on.
Man thinks his kind to be ideal,
And hates your knowing that's not real.
He judges you an omen
Of "evil things to come."
He can't see through his bigotry.
Your kind is not so dumb.
Your race is one with nature.
His has only what it takes!
They even fight amongst themselves.
You make no such mistakes.
A few of us, however,
Know what you truly are.
Your kind is free and happy.
You out match my race by far.
Ravens never quarrel.
Ravens don't have greed
For everything they ask from life,
They give back ten indeed.
Countless legends everywhere
The raven's kin have sired.
What poems, songs, and paintings,
The raven has inspired.
There are some who truly love your kind,
No matter how it seems.
We aspire to be like ravens,
if only in our dreams.

Onyx

(38) The Crow Book of the Dead

The Crow Book of the Dead, chapter 64, from the papyrus of H'ru:



It was the custom, in Ancient Egypt, for the "discoverer" of a manuscript to rewrite it, grafting upon it the benefit of his own experience. This would suggest that there was more to discovering a manuscript than simply finding it in a cave somewhere; there is an implicit suggestion that a common mystical path is being described.

I am yesterday and today, and I have the power, should I wish, to be born another time. I am the divine hidden soul who creates the gods, and who gives celestial meals to the divine hidden beings in the world, in the underworld and in heaven. I am the rudder of the east, with two divine faces which the crack of dawn illumes.

I am the lord of those who are raised up from the dead, the lord who comes forth from out of the darkness. Hail, ye two divine crow sentinels, perched upon your haunts, who hear that which I say. The flesh of the sacrifice is swinging, beckoning, and has been spied by the raven. May Badb Catha accept my gifts, my eyes starting tears as I watch and wait.

Familiar with the Abysses is your name. You ached in a chasm, while the winds of the wilderness blew bare your bones. I work for you, O ye ancient crow ancestor spirits, who are in number four million, six hundred and one thousand, and two hundred, and who stand twelve cubits high. You join hearts together and reach far, for the sixth hour, which belongs at the head of the world, is the hour of the overthrow of the fiend.

I am come there in triumph, and have entered the hall of the world. The strength which protects me protects my spirit; blood, cool water, offerings. I open a way among the teeth claws and talons of all those who would harm me, who keep themselves hidden, who would oppose me, and those who writhe upon their bellies.
The eye will not absorb the tears of the goddess Morrigan. Hail, goddess Morrigan, open for me the walled garden and grant me pleasant paths upon which I might travel.

And who are you, who consumes in hidden places? I am the lover of Nemain, and go in and come forth in the name of The Watcher, the lord of millions of years and of the Earth; I am the maker of my name. She who bears has birthed upon the Earth her fruit. The door by the wall is shut fast, and the things of terror are overturned and spiked with the beak blades of the carrion crows of regenerative ecstasy, the two Macha goddesses.

To the mighty one has his eye been given, and his face radiates light as he illuminates the earth. My name is his name. I shall not become corrupt, but I shall come into being in the form of the crow god; the blossoms of eternal spring shall be in me.

I am he who is never overwhelmed in the waters. Happy, yea happy, is the funeral couch of the still heart. He enters the misted pool and yet comes forth. I am the lord of my life. I have come to this place, and I have come forth from the roost within the tree of life of the crow god. Verily, all that is thine is held in state by the three beaked crow.

I have clasped the sycamore tree and the elm and I have opened their secrets. I have opened a way for myself among the secret gods of the world. I have come to see the one who dwells in his divine uraeus, face to face and eye to eye, and have drawn to myself the winds that rise when he comes forth.

My insight will ripple across my face, o bird god, who dwells in Yggdrasil. You are in me and I am in you, and your attributes are my attributes. I am the rain god, and Cloudmaker is my name. My forms are the forms of the god of the First Egg, the feathers of the winds of the earth.

I have entered in as a being of no understanding, and I shall come forth in the form of a strong spirit, and I shall look upon my form, which shall be that of the crow for ever and ever.



The Egyptian Book of the Dead

(37) Crazy Man Michael

Within the fire and out upon the sea
Crazy Man Michael was walking
He met with a raven with eyes black as coals
And shortly they were a-talking

"Your future, your future, I would tell to you
Your future, you often have asked me
Your true love will die by your own right hand
And Crazy Man Michael will cursed be"

Michael he ranted and Michael he raved
And beat at the four winds with his fists-oh
He laughed and he cried, he shouted and he swore
For his mad mind had trapped him with a kiss-oh

"You speak with an evil, you speak with a hate
You speak for the devil that haunts me
For is she not the fairest in all the broad land?
Your sorceror's words are to taunt me"

He took out his dagger of fire and of steel
And struck down the raven through the heart-oh
The bird fluttered long and the sky it did spin
And the cold earth did wonder and start-oh

"Oh, where is the raven that I struck down dead
That here'd lie on the ground-oh?
I see but my true love with a wound so red"
Her lover's heart it did pound-oh

Crazy Man Michael, he wanders and walks
And talks to the night and the day-oh
But his eyes they are sane and his speech it is clear
And he longs to be far away-oh

Michael he whistles the simplest of tunes
And asks the wild woods their pardon
For his true love is flown into every flower grown
And he must be keeper of the garden

(36) How Raven steals the Light

Before there was anything, before the great flood had covered the earth and receded, before the animals walked the earth or the trees covered the land or the birds flew between the trees, even before the fish and the whales and seals swam in the sea, an old man lived in a house on the bank of a river with his only child, a daughter. Whether she was as beautiful as hemlock fronds against the spring sky at sunrise or as ugly as a sea slug doesn't really matter very much to this story, which takes place mainly in the dark.

Because at that time the whole world was dark. Inky, pitchy, all-consuming dark, blacker than a thousand stormy winter midnights, blacker than anything anywhere has been since.

The reason for all this blackness has to do with the old man in the house by the river, who had had a box which contained an infinite number of boxes each nestled in a box slightly larger than itself until finally there was a box so small all it could contain was all the light in the universe.

The Raven, who of course existed at that time, because he had always existed and always would, was somewhat less than satisfied with this state of affairs, since it led to an awful lot of blundering around and bumping into things. It slowed him down a good deal in his pursuit of food and other fleshly pleasures, and in his constant effort to interfere and to change things.

Eventually, his bumbling around in the dark took him close to the home of the old man. He first heard a little singsong voice muttering away. When he followed the voice, he soon came to the wall of the house, and there, placing his ear against the planking, he could just make out the words, "I have a box and inside the box is another box and inside it are many more boxes, and in
the smallest box of all is all the light in the world, and it is all mine and I'll never give any of it to anyone, not even my daughter, because, who knows, she may be as homely as a sea slug, and neither she nor I would like to know that."

It only took an instant for the Raven to decide to steal the light for himself, but it took a lot longer for him to invent a way to do so.

First he had to find a door into the house. But no matter how many times he circled it or how carefully he felt the planking, it remained a smooth, unbroken barrier. Sometimes he heard either the old man or his daughter leave the house to get water or for some other reason, but they always departed from the side of the house opposite to him, and when he ran around to the other
side the wall seemed as unbroken as ever.

Finally, the Raven retired a little way upstream and thought and thought about how he could enter the house. As he did so, he began to think more and more of the young girl who lived there, and thinking of her began to stir more than just the Raven's imagination.

"It's probably that she's as homely as a sea slug," he said to himself, "but on the other hand, she may be as beautiful as the fronds of the hemlock would be against a bright spring sunrise, if only there were enough light to make one." And in that idle speculation, he found the solution to his problem.

He waited until the young woman, whose footsteps he could distinguish by now from those of her father, came to the river to gather water. Then he changed himself into a single hemlock needle, dropped himself into the river and floated down just in time to be caught in the basket which the girl was dipping in the river.

Even in his much diminished form, the Raven was able to make at least a very small magic -- enough to make the girl so thirsty she took a deep drink from the basket, and in so doing, swallowed the needle.

The Raven slithered down deep into her warm insides and found a soft, comfortable spot, where he transformed himself once more, this time into a very small human being, and went to sleep for a long while. And as he slept he grew.

The young girl didn't have any idea what was happening to her, and of course she didn't tell her father, who noticed nothing unusual because it was so dark -- until suddenly he became very aware indeed of a new presence in the house, as the Raven at last emerged triumphantly in the shape of a human boychild.

He was -- or would have been, if anyone could have seen him -- a strange-looking boy, with a long beaklike nose and a few feathers here and there. In addition, he had the shining eyes of the Raven, which would have given his face a bright, inquisitive appearance -- if anyone could have seen these features then.

And he was noisy. He had a cry that contained all the noises of a spoiled child and an angry raven -- yet he could sometimes speak as softly as the wind in the hemlock boughs, with an echo of that beautiful other sound, like an organic bell, which is also part of every raven's speech.

At times like that his grandfather grew to love this strange new member of his household and spent many hours playing with him, making him toys and inventing games for him.

As he gained more and more of the affection and confidence of the old man, the Raven felt more intently around the house, trying to find where the light was hidden. After much exploration, he was convinced it was kept in the big box which stood in the corner of the house. One day he cautiously lifted the lid, but of course could see nothing, and all he could feel was another box.
His grandfather, however, heard his precious treasure chest being disturbed, and he dealt very harshly with the would-be thief, threatening dire punishment if the Ravenchild ever touched the box again.

This triggered a tidal wave of noisy protests, followed by tender importuning, in which the Raven never mentioned the light, but only pleaded for the largest box. That box, said the Ravenchild, was the one thing he needed to make him completely happy.

As most if not all grandfathers have done since the beginning, the old man finally yielded and gave his grandchild the outermost box. This contented the boy for a short time -- but as most if not all grandchildren have done since the beginning, the Raven soon demanded the next box.

It took many days and much cajoling, carefully balanced with well-planned tantrums, but one by one the boxes were removed. When only a few were left, a strange radiance, never before seen, began to infuse the darkness of the house, disclosing vague shapes and their shadows, still too dim to have definite form. The Ravenchild then begged in his most pitiful voice to be allowed to hold the light for just a moment.

His request was instantly refused, but of course in time his grandfather yielded. The old man lifted the light, in the form of a beautiful, incandescent ball, from the final box and tossed it to his grandson.

He had only a glimpse of the child on whom he had lavished such love and affection, for even as the light was travelling toward him, the child changed from his human form to a huge, shining black shadow, wings spread and beak open, waiting. The Raven snapped up the light in his jaws, thrust his great wings downward and shot through the smokehole of the house into the huge darkness of the world.

The world was at once transformed. Mountains and valleys were starkly silhouetted, the river sparkled with broken reflections, and everywhere life began to stir. And from far away, another great winged shape launched itself into the air, as light struck the eyes of the Eagle for the first time and showed him his target.

The Raven flew on, rejoicing in his wonderful new possession, admiring the effect it had on the world below, revelling in the experience of being able to see where he was going, instead of flying blind and hoping for the best. He was having such a good time that he never saw the Eagle until the Eagle was almost upon him. In a panic he swerved to escape the savage outstretched claws, and in doing so he dropped a good half of the light he was carrying. It fell to the rocky ground below and there broke into pieces -- one large piece and too many small ones to count. They bounced back into the sky and remain there even today as the moon and the stars that glorify the night.


The Eagle pursued the Raven beyond the rim of the world, and there, exhausted by the long chase, the Raven finally let go of his last piece of light. Out beyond the rim of the world, it floated gently on the clouds and started up over the mountains lying to the east.

Its first rays caught the smokehole of the house by the river, where the old man sat weeping bitterly over the loss of his precious light and the treachery of his grandchild. But as the light reached in, he looked up and for the first time saw his daughter, who had been quietly sitting during all this time, completely bewildered by the rush of events.

The old man saw that she was as beautiful as the fronds of a hemlock against a spring sky at sunrise, and he began to feel a little better.


Bill Reid, storyteller (1920 - 1998)

(35) Conversation with a Crow

Lately I have been talking to crows. My ears are always alert
for the voice of a crow as I walk now, and they notice me and
try to get my attention. Today there was a crowd of them, a
whole bunch of them, talking in turn ­ large black warning
signs, one would start and his brother would take up the cry.
Call it a murder, but I try to forgive.

"Watch it," they call. "Watch your step, watch your
feet, watch for cracks. The world is less as it seems than
it ever was. The world is less as it is than anyone knows."
This is what the crows say. This is what the crows realize.

When I wear a scarf around my mouth for a mountain
winter, when noon turns the rock to desert, crows follow
and speak to me. They leave their wing feathers in my
mailbox and they leave their footprints on my floor.
"Watch out, watch all, the world is less as it is than
anyone knows." This is what the crows say. This is
what the crows know.



Unknown, © 2003

(34) The Cry of the Crow

Im big and Im mean and as ugly as sin,
My feathers are shiny and black,
While a proper regard for other birds lives
Is something I totally lack.


My voice is as harsh as a circular saw
And I use it as much as I can,
Its as loud and as cruel at the end of the day
As it was when the morning began.


I look down with contempt on the whole human race,
As tragics fast bound to the earth,
And their puny attempts at crow management
Just fill me with all kinds of mirth.


They rant and they rave and tear at their hair,
Even write letters to papers,
Wherever you go the complaints overflow,
Of outrageous crows and their capers.


Poison their food, shoot them on sight!
Such are the cries we are hearing,
And worrying signs of species assault
Are, sadly to say, now appearing.


Well, for those who would say Its crows or its us
Take heed and let caution prevail,
Theres a fine for attacks on us innocent crows,
And even, in some cases, jail.


So heres some advice from a crow in the know,
A message thats straight from the bill,
Dont try to reverse the pure nature of things,
Youre just pushing water up hill.


We were here first, just doing our thing,
Before your lot came on the scene,
When the rivers were pure, the air fresh and clean,
And the whole place was wall to wall green.


And well still be around when you blow yourselves up,
Or clone yourselves out of the show,
And the only sound heard oer earths ravaged plain
Is the sad lonely call of a crow.


F.D.

(33) Raven's Revenge

I (-some guy named Scot-) live near a small town and farming community, and the following event happened to a friend of mine, a farmer named Ken Kellog. Ken raises sheep, and he has this surly, unpredictable ram which boldly tries to escape the pasture at any opportunity. He also has quite a temper (the ram, not Ken).
A bunch of ravens had their nests near by -- about twenty ravens in all. Ten ravens make up a swoop, just like more than four sheep are a flock, etc. Anyways, these ravens loved to harass the ram. They'd fly down into the field and caw at him until he charged at them. Then they'd all fly upward, and the ram would crash into the fence. Once, though, one of the ravens didn't get out of the way in time, and he was crushed against the fencepost. The others decided to get revenge.
When Farmer Kellog came out to check on his sheep one day, he forgot to lock the gate properly. The ravens, working together, pushed it open, and lured the ram out into the hayfield. They flew towards the bailing maching, the ram bleating furiously all the way. At the last moment, the ravens pulled up -- and the ram ran straight into the bailer.
He came out the other side in a mangled package. Twenty big black birds came to perch upon him, satisfied, leaving the farmer with two swoops of ravens on a package of Kellog's brazen ram.

(32) Raven and the birth of a Shaman

The Shaman Aadhya -


Although the stories vary from north to south, there is a remarkable similarity in the development of a shaman(Russia) or brujo (Central and South America). This magician is both removed from and integrated with all aspects of society. He or she is the doctor, priest, philosopher, historian and poet. Their knowledge is feared and revered. They are not the victim but the master of nature, using will and wits to obtain power. They enlist the forces of nature in order to transcend them. Their thoughts - literally - take wing.

There was a young man who lived an ordinary life among his people in Siberia. One day he became terribly ill and fell into a deep sleep. He could hear everything that was said around him, but he could not move or speak. Suddenly he heard a flutter of wings and saw a huge black raven staring down at him. The bird clutched the youth with his beak and flew away with him high into the night. At the very top of the sky was a small opening and the raven flew through it to a land where the sun and moon were both shining. The beings in the Upper World had the bodies of humans but the heads of ravens. The bird carrying him flew into a house and set
him in the hand of a gigantic old man, who carefully weighed him and nodded his head. "Place him in the highest nest, " said the old man. The raven flew up the tallest tree the youth had ever seen, and on every branch was a nest. The raven set the boy down in a nest on the highest branch, and for three years he lay there and was nurtured, growing smaller and smaller until he was the size of a thimble. One day the old man said to the raven, "Go down to the world below, seize a woman, and bring her back." Soon the raven returned, carrying a woman by the hair. "Now hide her well," said the old man, "So that our son, who lives below, may not come up and carry her away."



In a little while the nestling heard the beating of a drum and a voice singing, and peeking out he saw the head of a human appear through the hole that separated the two worlds. It was a shaman, a medicine man, who had come to find the soul of the stolen woman. The shaman transformed himself into a bull, broke down the door of the house where the woman had been hidden, and galloped off with her on his back to the world below.
Finally the day came when the old man said, "Throw our child down from his nest, for it is time for him to be reborn. He shall become a great shaman, and serve his people well. " The child was lifted from his nest and tossed down through the opening at the top of the world, and he lost all memory of what had gone before.

As the old man had said, the child was born again to a new set of parents and given the name Aadhya. When he was five years old he suddenly recalled everything: how he had been born before and lived on the earth;how he had been born again among the raven-people; and how he now had another life on earth.

With his recollection of all that had happened, Aadhya also discovered that he had great healing powers. When someone in the village became sick, he would put himself into a trance with a drum and a song and search the patient for the source of the illness. If a medicine was needed, he called upon the raven, his spirit guide, to lead him to the place where the proper herb grew. If he determined that the soul of the sick person had been taken away, he would fly like a raven to the Upper World and seek to bring it back.

(31) The Law

There is a medicine story that tells of Crow's fascination with her own shadow. She kept looking at it, scratching it, pecking at it, until her shadow woke up and became alive. Then Crow's shadow ate her. Crow is Dead Crow now.

Dead Crow is the Left-Handed Guardian. If you look deeply into Crow's eye, you will have found the gateway to the supernatural. Crow knows the unknowable mysteries of creation and is the keeper of all sacred law.

Since Crow is the keeper of sacred law, Crow can *bend* the laws of the physical universe and "shape shift." This ability is rare and unique. Few adepts exist in today's world, and fewer still have mastered Crow's art of shape shifting. This art includes doubling, or being in two places at one time consciously; taking on another physical, and becoming the "fly on the wall" to observe what is happening far away.

The Europeans that came to Turtle Island were named the "boat people" by Slow Turtle. Even with the knowledge of alchemy possessed by certain boat people, none had ever seen the powerful shape shifting of shamans who utilized Crow medicine. Many boat people were frightened by what appeared to be animals coming
into their camps or dwellings to discern their medicine. Crow medicine people are masters of illusion.

All sacred texts are under the protection of Crow. Creator's *Book of Laws* or *Book of Seals" is bound in Crow feathers. Crow feathers tell of spirit made flesh. Crow is also the protector of the "ogallah" or ancient records.

The Sacred Law Belts, or Wampum Belts, beaded by native women long before the boat people or Europeans ever came to this continent, contain knowledge of the Great Spirit's laws, and are kept in the Black Lodges, the lodges of women. The law which states that "all things are born of women" is signified by Crow.

Children are taught to behave according to the rules of a particular culture. Most orthodox religious systems create a mandate concerning acceptable behavior within the context of worldly affairs. Do this and so, and you will go to heaven. Do thus and so, and you will go to hell. Different formulas for salvation are demanded by each "true faith."

Human law is not the same as Sacred Law. More so than any other medicine, Crow sees that the physical world and even the spiritual world, as humanity interprets them, are an illusion. There are billions of worlds. There are an infinitude of creatures. Great Spirit is within all. If an individual obeys Crow's perfect laws as given by the Creator, then at death he or she dies a Good Medicine death--- going on to the next incarnation with a clear memory of his or her past.

Crow is an omen of change. Crow lives in the void and has no sense of time. The Ancient Chiefs tell us that Crow sees simultaneously the three fates--- past, present, and future. Crow merges light and darkness, seeing both inner and outer reality.

If Crow medicine appears in your life, you must pause and reflect on how you see the laws of the Great Spirit in relation to the laws of humanity. Crow medicine signifies a firsthand knowledge of a higher order of right and wrong than that indicated by the laws created in human culture. With Crow medicine, you speak in a powerful voice when addressing issues that for you seem out of harmony, out of balance, out of whack, or unjust.

Remember that Crow looks at the world with first one eye, and then the other--- cross-eyed. In the Mayan culture, cross-eyeds had the privilege and duty of looking into the future. You must put aside your fear of being a voice in the wilderness and "caw" the shots as you see them.

As you learn to allow your *personal integrity* to be your guide, your sense of feeling alone will vanish. Your *personal will* can then emerge so that you will stand in your truth. The prime path of true Crow people says to be mindful of your opinions and actions. Be willing to walk your talk, speak your truth, know your life's mission, and balance past, present, and future in the now. Shape shift that old reality and become your future self. Allow the bending of physical laws to aid in creating the shape shifted world of peace.

CONTRARY: So you are an outlaw today, eh? This is one of the varied message of Crow reversed. The rebel in you has given a yell, and all hell is about to break loose!

A word to the wise at this point: make sure that if you are stepping on toes, you have some back-up. The catalyst for a barroom brawl is usually the person with two black eyes. That is what it means to *eat* Crow.

If you do not plan to go to such extremes, Crow reversed may indicate that you are merely "cheating a little' on your diet, or covertly watching the neighbors have a spat, or thinking, "Promises are made to be broken." In any of these situations, the only loser is you. If you are lying to yourself on any level, you have lost the power of Crow. Think about it, and maybe your inner truth will come to you.

In seeing what is true, you may need to weed out past beliefs or ideas to bring yourself into the present moment. Contrary Crow speaks of needing to remember that Divine Law is *not* judgment or denial of self-truths. Divine Law is honoring harmony that comes from a peaceful mind, an open heart, a true tongue, a light step, a forgiving nature, and a love of all living creatures. Honor the past as your teacher, honor the present as your creation, and honor the future as your inspiration.

Refusing to honor the shifts in your reality can cause emotional pain. An implosion of energy is apparent when rebellion surfaces. Contrary Crow speaks of broken law. The law of expansion is broken by suppression. This may apply to a situation, an old habit, a person you have given your authority to, or your own fears. It is always your own creation, so call on Crow and shift that creation to your new reality.


Dancing Elk (?)

(30) Learning

There are those who tell me that the feats of corvids are not that exceptional: other birds are able to do the same as these corvids. Then they come up with stories of Galapagos finches that use 'tools' (sticks to probe into wood and catch caterpillars or termites), starlings and parrots that are able to mimick many sounds (from nature, machines, humans, other beings), herons that use 'bait' to catch fish, and so on.

I already knew these stories of other bird species and many, many more. What intrigues me, is that corvids, especially crows, ravens and jays are able to perform ALL of these 'tricks'. What I and others experienced is, that they are quick in the uptake of some new 'technique' if there is a chance it will give them an advantage in getting food. They can be seen to be intent upon watching other (bird) species and learn whatever way these other creatures catch food. And immitate the tricks almost impeccably, after a few trials. Or else they discover or invent some new manoeuvre to do the same. All this in such a short time that one can almost be sure they do it with insight, thinking, and not simply with a lot of luck.

The last thing I would expect of any bird that is not water fowl, is to hunt in water. Ducks, geese, swans, boobies, cormorants,water-hens, gulls and all those birds with protective fatty layers in their body and oiled feathers are able to swim and dive without any problem. Kingfishers are able to dive in quickly and have to get out of the water as fast as possible. Eagles can snatch fish from the surface of a lake, but when they accidentally ( a heavy salmon ) land into it they haphazzardly have to peddle with their wings to the nearest shore to prevent a certain death by drowning.
Although I've never seen them do it myself, I know of at least two stories where people claim they have seen ravens or crows dive in and/or swim under water to hunt.

One story is from "A Notebook of Birds 1907-1980" (Macmillan, London 1981, pages 17 & 18). It's from John Hughes:
" In early June 1973 I witnessed a pair of Carrion Crows, Corvus Corone, plunging into the River Severn at Shrewsbury, Salop, to catch fish. One crow jumped feet first from a concrete ledge into the water and remained totally immersed for a few seconds before reappearing with a fish in its bill. The second crow received the captured fish and dashed it several times on the ledge. The dead fish was then taken to some young crows perched on the roof of a nearby building. The whole operation lasted about 20 minutes and was repeated several times, each time successfully. The crows took turns in the fishing and killing operations."
Then the commentary of the editors:
" There are many instances of Carrion Crows taking fish and other food from water (...) but this observation is exceptional. The success rate was high even for terns Sterna or kingfishers (Alcedinidae) while the fact that two crows should have learned to plunge right under water is very remarkable."

The other story I took from "Life Histories of North American Jays, Crows and Titmice" by Arthur Cleveland Bent (the Dover Publications edition, New York 1988, two volumes bound as one, page 194). I must admit I have my doubts about this story, but perhaps I simply misunderstood it. Here it is ( by Kumlien,1879):

" I have, on different occasions, witnessed them [-northern ravens-] capture a young seal that lay basking in the sun near its hole. The first manoeuvre of the ravens was to sail leisurely over the seal, gradually lowering with each circle, till at last one of them dropped directly into the seal's hole [-into freezing cold water, as I understand it! A.-], thus cutting off its retreat from the water. Its mate would then attack the seal, and endeavor to drag and drive it as far away from the hole as possible. The attacking raven seemed to strike the seal on the top of the head with its powerful bill, and thus break the tender skull."

(29) Hypnosis

" I've got an old 4 wheel drive Chevy truck, and one of the things I love to do is to go for slow rambling rides on the rural roads where I grew up at. I especially love doing this in February, when the cold Michigan winter turns frigid and bitter. I'll stop and walk the frozen swamps and pine woods, feeling how fragile I am in the 20 below wind chill, and come away with a feeling of awe, and of being recharged and cleansed. Some times when I'm driving along a cornfield (on these infrequently plowed roads) the road will disappear due to drifting and blowing snow, and I'll find myself driving 10 feet into the field, parallel to the road, when the road reappears.



It was one such day that I came upon 3 crows standing in a cornfield at the edge of a wood, foraging for something to eat on the frozen earth. Crows are pretty strange creatures, being very social, highly intelligent, and always ready to surprise me. I was reminded of a strange crow encounter that occurred awhile back. I was driving home one day on a dirt road and came upon 3 crows on the side of the road. There was something in the middle of them, and I slowed down and stopped a ways from them to see what they were up to. There was a squirrel sitting up, and on either side of him, about 2 feet away, 2 crows faced him. Facing the squirrel about a foot and a half away was the other crow. As I watched, the crow facing head on suddenly sprang forward and beaked the squirrel between the eyes, knocking him over. At this point they all pounced on the squirrel and that was that. It was almost as if they where mesmerizing the squirrel until he was too spaced out to flee. I couldn't believe what I saw, and replayed the scene in my head for a long time after. Who would believe me?

In a strange twist of luck, Becca and I were driving down another road a few years later and came upon the same scene being reenacted. We stopped and watched, but after a minute the squirrel got distracted by our presence, shook itself free of the spell the crows put on it, and fled. Our world is full of so many strange wonders.

Which brings me back to the frozen road, the minus double digit wind chill, and 3 crows that turned their heads as one and looked at me. In my head, as plain as if someone were next to me, I heard the words:

"We travel in threes
We know you've noticed
To thrive, survive
You've got to focus."


Unknown.

(28) From the Mists of Time

For a hundred thousand years, the greatest of the gods was the crow, the Dream Carrier, who brought civilization to the people in Paleolithic times. Mammoth ivory carvings found over a vast area from Europe to the Near East depict a goddess with the raptor traits of a carrion bird: three fingered talons and a beaked face--a predator crow with breasts.

About ten thousand years ago, when the goddess became a god, the same winged omnivore continued as chief deity almost everywhere: the archaic Greeks called him Cronos, literally The Crow, the tireless traveler and hunger machine the Romans renamed Saturn. God of Time, Apollo, whose name means The Destroyer, was another Greek avatar of the crow. As was the Norse king of the gods, Odin, To the Celts as well as aborigine American Nations, this scavenger bird carried the cosmic significance of the Great Benefactor, the creator of the visible world. The Germanic and Siberian tribes similarly worshipped the crow as an oracular healer. And in China, the black feathered predator was the first of the imperial emblems, representing yang, the sun, and the vitality of the emperor.

During medieval times, "The Shadow of the Sun" is how European alchemists defined the crow, their symbol for the "Nigredo", the blackness of despair and its poison cure--the unity latent in chaos. That unity is the crow's rapture, a life-force so powerful it can live off of death itself. That--and its outer space colour in broad daylight--is what impressed the first people. The crow is the hunger of the sky. When it comes down, it devours everything, including the dead. And it reflects nothing. It is invulnerable. It is wider than time.

At our human limits, when we've gone as far as our human bodies and imaginations can take us, we meet the Eternal Ones-- the powers that built our flesh out of the mineral accidents of creation and that are now building our individual fates out of time and the accidents of our hearts. They are spaceless and timeless as numbers and yet, as with numbers, all order in space and time comes from them. In a glare of earthlight, the crow emerges out of the super real. He is the appetite of the Eternal Ones for the mortal powers of the world.

J. O'Barr's The Crow is an excarnation of this celestial devourer. This crow is the same melancholy avenger who castrated his father, King of the Mountains (Uranus). Ten thousand years ago in the first kingdoms. The brutal Aryan war camps of Indo-Europe. He is immemorially old and inconsolable because he is his own Hades. Ghosts dwell in him, his clown white and feminine features harking all the way back to the ivory crow goddess of a hundred thousand years ago. The maker as the taker, the drained face of Mama Death, her ghost crows descending to pluck the souls from our corpses.
The blood remembers this. What O'Barr adds is the acid-burn of city apocalypse. The physical dread of our animal grief in the asphalt canyons where death pretends to be life. By this immediacy, O'Barr creates rough, spare, sinewy, and rapid arcs of vision and makes a simple supernatural tale of revenge a poison-cure to the complete absence of imagination--mindless violence.

Tears, salty blood, bone shards, and the sludge of brains attend this vision of the transcendental mystery of The Crow. It is how the dead are tongued with fire. It is an unnaturally natural way to express what the dead have no speech for; shadows of ink play with motionless motions on the emptiness of the page and a crow wakes in the heart. It is an illusion about why we are unfinished and can not fly.

And because the hand really is no different from what it creates, it is also O'Barr's personal truth--a ritual. Done for us.
As with every ritual, it is a killing floor. The more sacred the ritual, the more messy and gruesome the bloodletting. Saturn disemboweled. Odin pierced and hanging from the Storm Tree. The crow creating a zombie to destroy dozens of violent, evil lives. This purging of evil is a primordial fantasy prominent in the Suzerain truth that we are all equal before Death. No mortal has the right to take another's body or life. Yet people are raped and killed every hour. The whole world is infected, and the inner most secret inside the recesses of inert matter watches without blinking.

The Crow is this Chthonic spirits' long fantasy. Four billion years of raw food eaten alive has made the animal mind we have inherited a wild, hungry happiness. Life feeds voraciously on the silences of the dead. Behold our species' ravening of planetary sources. We are already, all of us, survivors of aftermath. In our ignorance and tameless greed, we have raped the only woman The Crow ever loved. Now his scar-split mask fills the world, and each of us is one of his casualties.

A.A.A.

(27) Young Bloods

We travel in a pack
We steal from the wolves
We are proving ourselves
We are the young bloods.
We follow the hunter
Waiting our chance
We caper and dance
We are the young bloods.
We gather at the roost
Fly low to the kill
To show our skill
We are the young bloods.

We call for backup
It's numbers we need
Survival or greed
We are the young bloods.
And we're shrewd and clever
At the carcass we snatch
Then flee with our catch
We are the young bloods.
And we travel in a pack
We steal from the wolves
We are proving ourselves
We are the young bloods.


Maddy Prior [album: Ravenchild]

(26) The Old Raven

Wind ruffles the feathers of the weary raven,
Time gently kills him from inside,
For with time, like us all, he must abide,
The home of the raven is a great vast land,
Of trees, dust, sun and sand,
With wise yellow eyes, he regards the dusty plain,
The ground calling out, yearning, for a single drop of rain,
The bird fancies he hears the call of another,
Someone he holds dear, a sister, a brother?
A friend? or a lover?
No one could know,
Except the old crow,
With a rapid beating of wings, he takes to flight,
With the hope in his heart, his quarry he may sight,
Over the thousands of miles he roams,
The sands he sifts and the beaches he combs,
The mountains he scouts,
Where hot lava often spouts,
And across oceans fair,
And barren deserts he dared,
Then the raven came to the end of his flight,
Where on foreign soil it is now night,
Wind swept lands are all that surround him,
Not much can be seen in the moonlight so dim,
The phantasm that he chased across the many, many miles,
Has merely all this time had him beguiled,
For he chased a mirage that was not really there,
But the old raven lies without a care,
For he has seen the world all over,
And what a beautiful journey it has been,
All the wonders and the sights he has seen,
For he knows now there was nothing he had lost,
And all has been found,
As he lies there dying on the ground,
The heavens open up over the strange new land,
And provide a display, nothing less than grand,
And as he softly dies,
No others mourn him, save for the crying in the skies.

M.Gleson

(25) Raven Augury, Celtic style

From chapter six in “Pagan Celtic Britain” by Anne Ross (1974, CARDINAL edition, London – page 327/328 - // Best, R.I., 1916, Prognostications from the Raven and the Wren, Eriu VIII: 120 ff) :


"One charming and unique example of Raven lore is preserved in a Middle Irish codex and it seems clear that the Raven, as well as other birds, was "domesticated" for purposes of divination. It is sufficiently rare and amusing to merit reproduction ... in full:

IF the Raven call from above an enclosed bed in the midst of the house, it is a distinguished grey-haired guest or clerics that are coming to you, but there is a difference between them.

If it be a lay cleric the Raven says "bacach"; if it be a man of orders it says "gradh gradh" and twice in the day it calls.

If it be warrior guests or satirists that are coming, it is "gracc gracc" it calls, or "grob grob," and it calls in the quarter behind you, it is from there the guests are coming.

If it calls "gracc gracc" the warriors to whom it calls are oppressed.

If women are coming it calls long.

If it calls from the north-east end of the house, robbers are about to steal the horses.

If it calls from the house door, strangers or soldiers are coming.

If it calls from above the door, satirists or guests from a king’s retinue are coming.

If it call from above the goodman’s bed, the place where his weapon will be, and he going on a journey, he will not come back safe, but if not, he will come back sound.

If it the woman who is about to die, it is from the pillow it calls.

If it call from the foot of the man’s bed his son or his brother or his son-in-law will come to the house.

If it call from the edge of the storehouse where the food is kept, there will be increase of food from the quarter it calls, that is flesh-meat or first milking of kine.

If its face be between the storehouse and the fire, agreeable guests are coming to the house.

If it be near to the woman of the house, where her seat is, the guests are for her, namely, a son-in-law or a friend.

If it call from the south of the storehouse, fosterage or guests from afar are coming to the house.

If it speak with a small voice, that is "err err" or "ur ur," sickness will fall on someone in the house, or on some of the cattle.

If wolves are coming amongst the sheep, it is "carna, carna" ("flesh, flesh"), "grob, grob," "coin, coin" (wolves, wolves).

If it calls from the rooftree of the house where people are eating, they throw away that food.

If it call from a high tree, then it is death-tidings of a young lord. If it calls from a stone it is death tidings of an aithech.

If from the top of a tree, death-tidings of a king or youth of noble lineage.

If it go with thee on a journey or in front of you, and if it be joyful, your journey will prosper and fresh meat will be given to you.

If you come left-hand wise and it calls before you, he is a doomed man on whom it calls thus, or it is the wounding of someone of the company.

If it be before you when going to assembly, there will be an uprising therein.

If it be left-hand-wise it has come, someone is slain in that uprising.

If it call from the corner where the horses are, robbers are about to attack them.

If it then turn on its back and says "grob, grob," some of the horses will be stolen and they will not be recovered. "

(24) Some old rhymes

Not a corvid augury system as elaborate as the Tibetan and Indian systems I posted earlier, but nice anyway:

(1)
One for sorrow, two for mirth,
Three for a wedding, four for a birth,
Five for silver, six for gold,
Seven a secret not to be told,
Eight for heaven, nine for hell,
And ten for the devil's own sel'.

(2)
One for sorrow,
Two for joy,
Three for a girl,
Four for a boy,
Five for silver,
Six for gold,
Seven for a secret
never to be told,
Eight for a wish,
Nine for a kiss,
Ten for a time
of joyous bliss.

(3)
One for sadness, two for mirth,
Three for marriage, four for birth,
Five for laughing, six for crying,
Seven for sickness, eight for dying,
Nine for silver, ten for gold,
Eleven a secret that will never be told.

Just pick the one you like most....or ask the crows (or magpies) themselves.

(23) Japan again: Tokyo's Feathered Terrorists

Japan's capital has a crow problem, and that's putting it mildly. Roving bands of the big black birds are harassing, attacking-- apparently even stalking--the populace.


TOKYO--They are on Tokyo's most-wanted list these days, vilified as child abusers, arsonists, grave robbers and cannibals. They eat everything--including the rotten and still-living.
Don't make eye contact, even from the seeming safety of a window. They remember faces and may stalk you when you eventually emerge.
The villains are jungle crows--huge, jet-black creatures with intimidating beaks, killer claws and a caw that sounds like a sea gull on steroids.
About 21,000 of the birds, which are indigenous to parts of Asia, have taken up residence in Tokyo, triple the number of 15 years ago. Until recently, the crows were mostly just an annoyance, cackling like drunken "salarymen" at predawn parties in Tokyo's few trees and having orgies amid the tantalizing, thinly wrapped bags of garbage piled high on city streets.
But the brazen birds, which measure about 2 feet from beak to tail and sport a wingspan of more than a yard, are now on the attack. The Japan Wild Birds Assn. warns not to leave children unattended on terraces or in tiny backyards, and with good reason.
Three-year-old Kimiko Enamoto was with her mother, Yuko, in a city park when five crows suddenly swooped down. When the girl ran, they attacked her from behind, pecking her on the head. Yuko Enamoto threw one of her sandals at the birds, then rushed her bleeding daughter to the doctor. Kimiko, who escaped with only a tetanus shot, is getting over her terror of birds a lot more slowly than she is her superficial wounds. "I think she can deal with sparrows now," her mother says.
Enamoto theorizes that the birds sense fear--which is why they attacked her daughter and not her friend's little boy, who stood still when the crows rushed them.
"I usually still swing my handbag at them," she says. "I feel like if I see a big bird, I'll show him who's boss."
But the birds showed Hiroshi Takaku, a political analyst, who's really in charge.
When one of his colleagues was being attacked by two crows on the roof of his Tokyo office building, Takaku took off his belt and started swinging it. The birds kept their distance. But a few days later, Takaku and his colleagues arrived at work to find a crow cavalry awaiting them: Hundreds of crows flew over the downtown office building in a scene out of Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds."
"They threatened us by yelling or crying," Takaku says. "We think one crow sent a signal to his colleagues to come back as a group. . . . My colleagues knew they came for revenge."
Hiroshi Kawachi, deputy director of the Tokyo branch of the Japan Wild Birds Assn., blames the mounting problem on the capital's failure to adequately dispose of trash. Some businesses have banded together and hired private trash services to pick up rubbish in their districts at night, because the crows have poor night vision. Some districts encourage residents to use trash cans that close completely. But in many parts of Tokyo, which requires residents to put their trash in semi-see-through plastic bags, most people just throw nets over the garbage, which doesn't seem to deter the birds much. And Tokyo's move to begin collecting the rubbish at 8 a.m. instead of an hour later is worthless, Kawachi says. "The crows have already finished their breakfast when men come to collect garbage at 8 a.m.--they usually eat at 5 to 6 a.m.," leaving rubbish strewn in their wake, he says.
Fortified by the urban smorgasbord, the emboldened crows then cruise the city. Adults, children and even an occasional bicyclist are all high on their pecking order, particularly in May and June, when the unwary targets venture near protective crow parents hovering over their chicks. Although statistics aren't available, city officials say several injuries have required stitches, and one cyclist who was stalked by crows suffered broken bones in falling.
More serious injuries are possible if the current pattern isn't broken, Kawachi warns. "Crows do not have any morals to distinguish humans from animals," he says of the birds, which are so tough that they sleep in jerry-built beds made of metal clothes hangers.
Somewhat like the Japanese society in which they live, the birds feel most comfortable in a group. They stalk their prey en masse and have even been known to attack lambs and calves in the countryside. A favorite food is road-kill cat, although the crows find the meal even tastier if the unfortunate pet is still breathing.
Sometimes the crows even dine on each other. And although they stop short of killing their young, that doesn't mean they won't eat the babies of other bird species.
Tokyo is striking back with a controversial campaign, led by hawkish Tokyo Gov. Shintaro Ishihara. His crow antipathy has its origins in a golf course incident: He was attacked by vengeful crows after he hurled his club at them, he told Japanese reporters.
Poisoning birds is prohibited in Tokyo, so this spring the city hired five extermination companies to take down nests and kill chicks, although the firms could crow only about their experience with pigeons, rats and cockroaches. One company, Kokusai Eisei, feels so bad about killing the babies (it dispatches them with chloroform) that it sends the ashes to private pet tombs, paying $18 per pound for the repose of the bones.
The bird-busters come armed with helmets, acrylic masks and plastic, elbow-length gloves. Guns are prohibited in Japan, so the defensive weapon of choice is an open umbrella.
Hiroshi Tsurumaki, deputy manager of Kokusai Eisei, says the crows never attacked while the exterminators did their dirty work but that five or six parents usually glared nearby.
Certainly, when measured against Tokyo's crow crowds, the campaign hasn't been overly successful: The exterminators have snatched just 60 nests this summer, each of which contained two or three chicks.
City officials estimated that they've spent as much as $35,000 on the effort.
The crows have always been pests to farmers in the countryside. And two years ago they were blamed for a forest fire in Iwate prefecture in northern Japan. A witness reported seeing a crow drop a flaming potato chip bag--picked up from a dump where outdated chips were being burned--over dry weeds.
A year earlier, there had been another case of suspected crow arson: a blaze sparked when the birds picked up incense from a graveyard and dropped it on a nearby forest. Crows flock around cemeteries, where food, including vegetables and fruit, is often brought as a gift for ancestors and where those paying respects often light incense sticks. "You cannot blame anybody for a crow-caused hazard," says Muneo Hishinuma, the fire chief in the city of Kamaishi. Perhaps the fires were accidental. Perhaps they weren't--everyone knows the birds are smart.
Enamoto, whose daughter was attacked, says that one day in the park, she briefly left some leftovers unattended. The food was in a plastic bag, inside a lunch box, inside another bag tied with a string. When she returned a few minutes later, a crow had pulled everything out and was munching on the fried chicken.
A sister species, the carrion crow, has been known to put walnuts, which it can't open with its claws, in the path of oncoming cars and wait for the four-wheeled nutcrackers to drive by before retrieving the delicacy.The jungle crows, however, simply watch the carrion crows do the work and then confiscate the reward.
They're not always so smart when it comes to their own reflection, though: When they see themselves in building glass, they tend to mercilessly peck at the image, sometimes killing themselves in the process.
Such deaths are among the few ways adult crows can die a nonnatural death these days. There is just one creature known to eat crow in Japan: the hawk. And it must be a huge hawk, or else the crows go after it.

Valerie Reitman, august 2000

(To get an impression what kind of crow is being discussed here, click on the next link for some great pics of Crows in Japan:

CROWS IN JAPAN

(22) Trickster

A hunter found an excellent run of seal breathing holes. Then he searched around for a good place to camp.
Along flew a raven which pointed to a certain place beneath a mountain. "There", the raven said, "All the hunters who come here camp there." The man made his house where the raven indicated. But in the night a big boulder rolled down the mountain and crushed him to death.
"I don't know why all these hunters believe my silly stories", said the raven, pecking out the man's eyes.


An Inuit story.

(21) The Scarecrow

It is the wind, rustling through the tall grass, that awakens the young girl. She opens her eyes slowly, enjoying the sound the wind makes as it picks its way through the labyrinth of long green stalks. She wears a simple light blue dress, white stockings, black polished shoes; next to her is a small basket, filled with wilted flowers. She sits up, scratching her head, trying to wipe away the vagueness that has overtaken her mind. She has slept for too long. It is time to wake up.

She picks up the basket and stands, the wind gently pushing and pulling her dress. Everywhere she looks there is grass, long and green, fluttering in the wind. An old wooden fence is visible in the distance, twisting its way through the prairie like a broken spine. The girl turns around.

In front of her, mounted to a large cross, hangs a scarecrow. A huge hat covers most of its head, a long coat covers its body. It is held to the cross by three ropes: two around the wrists one around its waist. The girl stands before the scarecrow, fear and awe twisting around inside her. It is so out of place here, amongst the green pasture. The scarecrow is drab and brown. The cross is old and appears to be rotting away before her eyes. She walks up to it.

She circles it once, looking at the old coat, the hat. The girl returns to the front of the scarecrow, looking up into the shadows beneath the hat where a face should be.

Two slits of white appear, growing larger as the girl watches. She backs away in fear. The white eyes blink twice, then focus in on the girl.

"Child," the scarecrow says, its voice grating and old, "free me from my bonds."

The girl stops, and looks at the white eyes. "You scare me," she whispers.

"My appearance is only an illusion, my dear child. I am as helpless as a newborn lamb." The scarecrow shifts its head and scraping sounds come from its neck, like the sound of two dry bones rubbing together. "Please," the scarecrow repeats, "free me from my bonds."

The girl takes a cautious step forward, setting the basket down. The wind begins to pick up and one of the wilted flowers is snatched from the basket and tossed into the air. "If I let you down, you promise not to hurt me?"

"You have my word, lonely child. When I am free we shall play together, you and I. Would you like that?"

"Yes, Mister Scarecrow," the girl says. "That would be nice." Dark clouds begin to roll in, the wind increasing. In the distance there is thunder, flashes of lightning.

The scarecrow looks up into the darkening sky and sighs. "I-I have been so lonely, little one. Time goes so slow here and I haven't spoken to anyone for so long that I was beginning to fear I had lost my tongue." Thunder crashes overhead.

The girl walks up to the scarecrow, her eyes still looking up into the dark shadows that lie under the hat. She reaches for its right arm, jumping for the rope, but the cross is too big, nearly twice her size. "I can't reach your hands," she says, jumping one last time. "I'm not big enough."

"Do not worry yourself with my hands," the scarecrow says. "If you release the rope that surrounds me, that will be enough."

The girl walks behind the scarecrow, where the rope is tied in a simple knot. As she reaches for it lightning crashes down, striking the ground in an explosion of white. The girl looks up at the sky, at the pitch black clouds that swirl overhead. Rain begins to fall, big wet drops that strike her hard in the face. "I'm scared," she says to the scarecrow.

"Do not be frightened. Once I am free I will watch over you." The clouds swirl in violent synchronicity, faster and faster. Thunder rumbles through the sky, across the earth, shaking the ground. A black mass twists itself free from the clouds and begins to circle its way down, toward the earth.

The scarecrow looks up, at the twirling black mass, which is now breaking up into millions of smaller black shapes. Now there is another sound in the air, the sound of a million flapping wings. "Hurry child!" the scarecrow screams, his white eyes locked on the approaching storm of black.

The girl twists and turns the rope, trying to separate the two pieces from each other. The scarecrow begins to laugh, a laugh that sounds like leaves blowing, like empty tree limbs shaking in a cold winter wind. The girl tugs at the rope, harder and harder, when suddenly the rope falls from her hands, the knot deciphered, the scarecrow free.

The girl runs to the front of the scarecrow, rain pelting her in the face, soaking her to the bone, the rope still clenched in one tight fist. The black mass has nearly reached the ground, the flapping and cawing roaring louder and louder. "What's going on! What's happening?" the girl screams above the noise. The thunder comes in quick, successive strikes, as if a madman were playing the drums.

"It's all quite simple, little one," the scarecrow whispers. He arches his back, stretching. A crow flies in front of it, then another, another, and another, until they are just blurs of black filling the air, their flapping wings sounding like musket shots. They circle the girl's head. She screams, falling down, swatting at the birds. There are two loud snaps as the scarecrow breaks the ropes holding its arms. It lunges forward, the ropes dangling from the wrists of its outstretched hands.

Crows are everywhere, darting between the girl and the approaching scarecrow, the sounds of their wings pulsating with the beating of the girl's heart. There are so many of them, they seem to fill every square inch of space, the air saturated with the sound of their wings, their caws.

"Life," the scarecrow roars, lunging ahead for the girl. There are so many crows now that the world is going black, the bodies forming one solid sheet of darkness. "It's all about life!"

The blurring black veil descends completely between the two and the last thing the girl sees before she goes unconscious is a single white eye and gleaming teeth.





It is the wind, rustling through the tall grass, that awakens the young woman. She opens her eyes quickly, then sits up, looking into the sky. The black clouds are fleeing, disappearing into the horizon, replaced by the bright sun and blue sky. She feels a throbbing down below. She rubs herself, one finger probing the area; she feels something wet and pulls her finger back, holding it up to her face. A small stream of blood runs down her finger, dripping into the grass. She looks at the blood a moment, then wipes it away in the grass.

Next to her a single crow feather flutters in the wind. She picks it up, holding it to her chest as she stands, as if it were the most important thing in her life. The sun is bright and hot on her back; the wind gentle, caressing.

Before the girl looms the cross, rope hanging from each arm of the large crucifix, twisting lightly in the gentle wind. A single crow hops along the top of the cross, flapping its wings. As the girl watches, the crow takes off, glides through the air, and with several quick snaps of its wings, disappears into the deep blue sky.

WH

(20) Crow's God

The earth is so white under this tree
You'd think a divine leprosy
Had set in. But it's nothing mysterious at all.
Generation of crows have let their droppings fall
Here. If you look up you can see
The crossed twigs of the rookery.
But down here is the thing men and crows have in common.
What we know of men is their garbage dumps,
A few fallen columns, perhaps, but mostly the mounds
Of broken pots, orts, the throwaways of life.

What would you expect? Life itself arose as the wife
Of pollution. Stars broke, unclean magma poured
From fissures, foul methane and ammonia bleared
The sacred emptiness. Nor can life at all
Abide the purity in which the spectral particles
Of matter coast. In space our blood would boil
Away in a pink vapor trail
Fading in colorless cold. Vacuum would suck
Eyes from sockets and reset the atoms by blind luck.

Well, man, keep your house clean---if you can. But
Remember the god you must worship is the crow's God

(19) The Foulest of Fowl

Envision, if you will, a crow.
Large, quite black, very different.
Unnecessary. Unattractive. Unwanted.
No one likes a crow.
No one smiles, or even grins at a "caw, caw."
Usually, somebody like, well like you probably,
will grin sadistically, wishing you could
blast that black stain from the sky. Heh heh heh.

We've created a creature called a "scarecrow"
to rid ourselves of this beasty vermin with wings.
Alas, you often see scarecrows with crow shit on them.
Have you looked?
We hate crows because they are nasty looking, nasty sounding, and
have no real perceived value.
Yet the crow exists regardless of anyone's wishes.
Isn't it interesting how many crows there are in the world?
Always persecuted, persevering, flourishing.
Throughout history, and today.
He goes wherever he wants, taking that most direct route.
I think we hate crows so much because of our intense jealousy of the
gift of flight. Of survivalism. Of solitude and freedom.

The crow is an ugly underdog who wins.
We hate crows, because we want to be crows.
I think I'm a crow, down deep.
Look at yourself. Aren't you just a human crow?
Probably not.
But you should be.


Lobo

(18) Thought & Memory, Huginn and Muninn

Two ravens rested on the shoulders of the Norse god Odin: Huginn and Muninn, Thought and Memory. The ravens circled the sky, often during battle, and returned in the evening to Odin. It was considered apocalyptic if only one of the ravens should return, the consequences being a society governed by memory without thought, or thought without memory. The story was meant to represent the concepts of a world defined by the figurative absence of the living, with the past eternally unchanged, or the rule of the present without understanding of what has come before. As for ravens, with only one, there may as well be none.

(17) Some more folklore

Finding a dead crow on the road is good luck.

Crows in a church yard are bad luck

A single crow over a house meant bad news, and often foretold a death within. "A crow on the thatch, soon death lifts the latch."

It was unlucky in Wales to have a crow cross your path. However, if two crows crossed your path, the luck was reversed. "Two crows I see, good luck to me"

In New England, , to see two crows flying together from the left was bad luck.

When crows were quiet and subdued during their midsummer's molt, some European peasants believed that it was because they were preparing to go to the Devil to pay tribute with their black feathers.

Often, two crows would be released together during a wedding celebration. If the two flew away together, the couple could look forward to a long life together. If the pair separated, the couple might expect to be soon parted, too. (This practice was also performed using pairs of doves).

In Chinese mythology a three legged crow was used to represent the Sun (because 3 was the number for light and goodness, which the sun was the embodiment of)



Magpies are ominous birds, able to foretell events by the size of the group in which they fly ( "One for sorrow, two for...")

A spell of protection used when a magpie was seen was to cross yourself, raise your hat to the bird or spit three times over right shoulder and say 'devil, devil, I defy thee'. This was particularly useful if you did not like the future as foretold by counting the magpies.

Magpies are accused of not wearing full mourning at the Crucifixion. Because they wore white when they were supposed to be all black, they have been cursed by God.

In Scotland, Magpies are thought to be so evil that each has a drop of the Devil's blood under its tongue.

In Somerset (West Country of England) locals used to carry an onion with them for protection from magpies or crows.

In the same area, locals used to tip their hats to Ravens, in order not to offend them.

Ravens are associated with the devil in many parts of UK. In Yorkshire children were threatened with the Great Black Bird which would carry them off if they were bad.

It has been said that a baby will die if a raven's eggs are stolen.

Ravens are considered royal birds. Legend has it King Arthur turned into one.

Alexander the Great was guided across the desert by two ravens sent from heaven.

The Tower of London houses ravens, and has for over 900 years. It is said that if the ravens ever leave the Tower, England will fall. Or, to be more exact, if they leave the Tower, the Tower will fall - and since the tower is (theoretically at least) tied to the crown of England, the Crown will fall - and if the Crown falls, then the Country shall fall, too. To prevent all this from happening, the ravens' wings are clipped.
(I read somewhere that the resident ravens of the Tower have to be 'replenished' quite often lately, because they seem to be dying of some unknown desease; the substitutes are captured in Wales...)


If a raven perches on a house in Wales, it will bring prosperity to the family within.

In Scotland, a raven circling a house was said to predict the death of someone within.

Rooks feeding in village streets or close to nests in the morning means bad weather is to come - usually storms or rain. , rooks flying far from their nest means fair weather.

Rooks used to be told of a landowner's death. The new landowner would stand under a rookery and give the news, usually adding the promise that only he and his friends would be allowed to shoot the birds in future. If he neglected the ceremony, the birds would desert the rookery - an evil omen in itself. This forecast the loss of the land and downfall of the family through poverty.

The French had a saying that evil priests became crows, and bad nuns became magpies.

The Greeks said "Go to the Crows" the same way we would say "Go to Hell."

The Romans used the expression "To pierce a Crow's eye" in relation to something that was almost impossible to do.

An Irish expression, "You'll follow the Crows for it" meant that a person would miss something after it was gone.

The expression, "I have a bone to pick with you" used to be " I have a crow to pick with you".

(16) Some Folklore

In folklore it is a bad omen if you hear a
raven croak from the left, especially early in the morning.
(but read also the earlier posts on Tibetan, Indian and Old Roman Augury).

Ravens could also bring luck:

Make Prayers to the Raven.
Raven that is,
Raven that was,
Raven that always will be.
Make prayers to the Raven.
Raven, bring us luck.

From the Koyukon

**************************

Hunting

If you killed magpies, crows or ravens you would get into trouble. All corvids had somewhat to do with the devil. If you shot one of these birds, there were always consequences. The hunter's cattle would die, he would become wounded or ill,
and his gun would be corrupted.

**************************

The raven's feather

(The Sami People, Scandinavia)


The raven has a [feather called] lævedolge by means of which it finds meat and knows where the wolf goes at night. The raven sleeps at night, indeed; but when he gets up early in the morning he knows where the wolf has been in the night; and then they go there all of them [i. e. the whole flock of ravens], that feather leads them thither [i. e. to the carcass]. - And that feather is under the wing, and he who gets it can find anything he wishes. He finds reindeer [who have gotten away from the herd] or reindeer-carcasses [the Lapps keep track of the carcasses in order to know what reindeer have been killed] or wolf's cubs [in order to kill them].

But it [i e. the feather] is not easy to find. There certainly is an account [of how to get possession of the feather]: he who can get a raven half-dead must catch it; and if there happens to be [in the neighborhood] water that flows slowly, such as is called a tranquil stream, then you must pluck the feathers [of the raven which is still alive] therein, and see if there is a feather that goes against the stream; then you must take it and place it under the arm, in the hairs there, and bind firmly around, so that it can stay there for three days and nights. Then it is not dangerous any more [i. e. it will not be able to get away]. Then it must be placed in the other armpit and be kept there for three days and nights. And then it is placed in the lowermost hairs and kept there two days and nights - and one day and night in the hairs of the head. And then you must let it go in strong wind and say: "Come and be my guide when I need it!" And then that person finds anything. - But if the raven reaches death [before you have got it plucked and have thrown the feathers into the stream], then the feather flies away, and then you will not get it.

From Lappish Texts by Johan Turi and Per Turi (Copenhagen 1920)

**************************

Legend

There are nights when the moon shines so brightly
and everything is ever so quiet.
Then Odin rides through the forest.
These are the raven nights.
When all the ravens are white and can speak,
and everyone can understand them

From Sweden

**************************

(15) The Raven Mocker

Of all the Cherokee wizards or witches the most dreaded is the Raven Mocker (Kâ'lanû Ahkyeli'skï), the one that robs the dying man of life. They are of either sex and there is no sure way to know one, though they usually look withered and old, because they have added so many lives to their own.

At night, when some one is sick or dying in the settlement, the Raven Mocker goes to the place to take the life. He flies through the air in fiery shape, with arms outstretched like wings, and sparks trailing behind, and a rushing sound like the noise of a strong wind. Every little while as he flies he makes a cry like the cry of a raven when it "dives" in the air--not like the common raven cry--and those who hear are afraid, because they know that some man's life will soon go out. When the Raven Mocker comes to the house he finds others of his kind waiting there, and unless there is a doctor on guard who knows bow to drive them away they go inside, all invisible, and frighten and torment the sick man until they kill him. Sometimes to do this they even lift him from the bed and throw him on the floor, but his friends who are with him think he is only struggling for breath.

After the witches kill him they take out his heart and eat it, and so add to their own lives as many days or years as they have taken from his. No one in the room can see them, and there is no sear where they take out the heart, but yet there is no heart left in the body. Only one who has the right medicine can recognize a Raven Mocker, and if such a man stays in the room with the sick person these witches are afraid to come in, and retreat as soon as they see him, because when one of them is recognized in his right shape he must die within seven days. There was once a man named Gûñskäli'skï, who had this medicine and used to hunt for Raven Mockers, and killed several. When the friends of a dying person know that there is no more hope they always try to have one of these medicine men stay in the house and watch the body until it is buried, because after burial the witches do not steal the heart.

The other witches are jealous of the Raven Mockers and afraid to come into the same house with one. Once a man who had the witch medicine was watching by a sick man and saw these other witches outside trying to get in. All at once they heard a Raven Mocker cry overhead and the others scattered "like a flock of pigeons when the hawk swoops." When at last a Raven Mocker dies these other witches sometimes take revenge by digging up the body and abusing it.

The following is told on the reservation as an actual happening:

A young man had been out on a hunting trip and was on his way home when night came on while he was still a long distance from the settlement. He knew of a house not far off the trail where an old man and his wife lived, so he turned in that direction to look for a place to sleep until morning. When he got to the house there was nobody in it. He looked into the âsï and found no one there either. He thought maybe they had gone after water, and so stretched himself out in the farther corner to sleep. Very soon he heard a raven cry outside, and in a little while afterwards the old man came into the âsï and sat down by the fire without noticing the young man, who kept still in the dark corner. Soon there was another raven cry outside, and the old man said to himself, "Now my wife is coming," and sure enough in a little while the old woman came in and sat down by her husband. Then the young man knew they were Raven Mockers and he was frightened and kept very quiet. Said the old man to his wife, "Well, what luck did you have?" "None," said the old woman, "there were too many doctors watching. What luck did you have?" "I got what I went for," said the old man, "there is no reason to fail, but you never have luck. Take this and cook it and lees have something to eat." She fixed the fire and then the young man smelled meat roasting and thought it smelled sweeter than any meat he had ever tasted. He peeped out from one eye, and it looked like a man's heart roasting on a stick.

Suddenly the old woman said to her husband, "Who is over in the corner?" "Nobody," said the old man. "Yes, there is," said the old woman, "I hear him snoring," and she stirred the fire until it blazed and lighted up the whole place, and there was the young man lying in the corner. He kept quiet and pretended to be asleep. The old man made a noise at the fire to wake him, but still he pretended to sleep. Then the old man came over and shook him, and he sat up and rubbed his eyes as if he had been asleep all the time.

Now it was near daylight and the old woman was out in the other house getting breakfast ready, but the hunter could hear her crying to herself. "Why is your wife crying?" he asked the old man. "Oh, she has lost some of her friends lately and feels lonesome," said her husband; but the young man knew that she was crying because he had heard them talking.

When they came out to breakfast the old man put a bowl of corn mush before him and said, "This is all we have--we have had no meat for a long time." After breakfast the young man started on again, but when he had gone a little way the old man ran after him with a fine piece of beadwork and gave it to him, saying, "Take this, and don't tell anybody what you heard last, night, because my wife and I are always quarreling that way." The young man took the piece, but when he came to the first creek he threw it into the water and then went on to the settlement. There he told the whole story, and a party of warriors started back with him to kill the Raven Mockers. When they reached the place it was seven days after the first night. They found the old man and his wife lying dead in the house, so they set fire to it and burned it and the witches together.

(14) Japan : "The Birds"

I was attacked by a crow last December. At first, I thought it was just the bird's natural response to my getting too close to its nest. However, closer analysis that I have performed since the attack has led me to a dire conclusion: there is a conscious crow conspiracy to take over Tokyo. These black birds of terror must be stopped before it is too late.
The conspiracy has been successful so far because covert crow actions have been masked to seem like instinctive behavior. Take, for instance, my recent duel with one of these evil creatures. Although it seemed as if the bird was just protecting its nest, this is not true. If it had been, sparrows, swallows and pigeons would also be dive-bombing us. Obviously, the crows attack people with the sole intent of inducing lethal concussions.
Crows have also recognized the impact of disabling Tokyo's transportation. Recently, the Shinkansen has faced trouble with rocks laid on their tracks by the avian menace. They clearly intend to kill hundreds of commuters and paralyze Japan's train network. Crows are also known to lay walnuts in the street. Although naive naturalists see this as only a way to crack open the nut, the fact of the matter is that the birds are practicing for their day of revolution, when they will use not walnuts but contact explosives.
Crows are not stymied by morals and have even turned to biological warfare. Scientists have confirmed that they often specifically target humans when they defecate. That's right, each one of these black beasts is a tactical bomber, ready to deliver its payload of toxic bombs on unsuspecting victims. Crows spread garbage all over the street due to a similar motive. It is not so much that they want to eat it; their real goal is to cause a massive outbreak of bubonic plague in Tokyo. No one is safe.
Many people think that crows are just stupid birds. However, they are very intelligent and are capable of communicating with each other. Researchers have discovered the meanings of various calls. Kaaa means "go away". KaaaKaaaaa means "there is food here." I expect they will soon learn the meanings of more complex phrases. For example, KaaaKaKaaaaaa may mean "derail that train," and Kaaaaaakaka could be "kill those school children and eat them."
So, you may ask, how come the crows haven't taken over yet? The truth is that they are still building up their armies. According to the Urban Bird Society of Japan, crow population has tripled over the past fifteen years. Soon, they will have the numbers to ruthlessly exterminate every Tokyo resident.
We must act now, while we still have hope. Present anti-crow measure, such as putting nylon nets over garbage, are horribly inadequate because they fail to recognize the true threat. The best measure would be for the Japanese government to declare war on the crows and mobilize tanks and fighters. However, even if Article 9 of Japan's Peace Constitution makes this action impossible, there are other steps that could be taken. I propose an immediate lifting on Tokyo's crow hunting ban, and establishing a 1000 yen reward for each crow captured or killed, a tactic that has been used with success in Okinawa to combat the poisonous habu snake.
In addition, a program to popularize the consumption of crows would be effective. In its current recession, Japan would welcome a cheaper white meat. Imagine: Kentucky Fried Crow. Instead of a threat to our lives, crow could be an inexpensive source of protein.
As I speak, crows across Tokyo are planning their violent coup d'etat. They have already taken the first steps, through aerial attacks and transportation sabotage, to wipe out the human race. If we do not kill these cruel, clever, and cunning crows now, all will be lost.


Lombardo, 2000


CROWS IN JAPAN

(13) The Crafty Crow

Last February I sat reading in my back yard on a Sunday afternoon, catching some winter sun, and saw a crow in action. The orange feline thug co-resident at my house brought a dead lizard to my feet for admiration. I told him he was a fine cat and he bashed the lizard around for a while, re-enacting the chase for me, no doubt. Eventually he stopped and lay sprawling, dozing with one proprietary paw resting on the lizard. Suddenly a crow plummeted from the tree, snatched the lizard in its beak, and flapped blackly into the sky. The cat gave short chase, then retired under the house in spitting and snarling confusion.

The same crow came back later. I'm sure it was the same crow. It sat on a low branch and cawed at the cat every time it caught sight of him for the rest of the afternoon. The cat seemed embarrassed. But it's no disgrace to be outwitted by a crow: " If men wore feathers and wings" Henry Ward Beecher-once said, " a very few of them would be clever enough to be crows."

There's nothing more familiar than crows. From Maine to Mexico, from China to India, to Africa-and the Phillipines, crows practice their crafty depredations, increasing in numbers despite Man's disruptions,of the ecology. Or, rather, because of Man's disruptions: crows are clever enough to adapt just as fast as Man builds new habitats. Superbly generalized, with all of the most practical features of birds and few of the liabilities, t hey have keen perception, a low sense of humor, and a reluctance to earn an honest living.

Throughout history men have looked at crows with wonder and awe and credited them with powers beyond the ordinary. The Romans saw omens in their flights; Aristotle described their uncanny wars with owls. (Crows spread through Greece along with civilization; once the country was deforested, Greece collapsed, but the crows had easy living.) In Norse mythology the crow was sacred to the supreme god Odin. His two big black birds, Thought and Memory, flew about the world by day and at evening returned to their master's shoulders to tell him all that was going on. But the reputation of the crow has been on a long decline ever since Henry the Eighth passed an act requiring all landowners to destroy crows on sight. Parishes containing more than ten households had to provide nets and other devices for catching the adults; annual meetings were held to discover new methods of destroying the young in their nests. Queen Elizabeth I added a provision for bounties to be paid on delivery of crow carcasses.

There was a reason for this genocide: crows pull up seedling crops and, when roosting, can do major damage to fruits and grains. They've been known to mob and kill newborn lambs and calves, pecking incessantly while the mother is still giving birth. And.their tendency to gather at battlefields.in advance of the battle, and to caw with anticipatory relish as the men march toward the fight, has made them unpopular, too: crows love to eat eyeballs.

Crows act as individuals, as in stealing lizards, but their great achievement is their language, which allows them to work closely with each other at the expense of whatever suckers are available. They may be bird-brains, but they are not dumb. Likemost songbirds, they have seven muscles in their version of a larynx, the syrinx; they can make some very complex sounds. Twelve basic calls make up the crow "alphabet". Crows even seem to have personal names in their language: the "rattling call". used when approaching the nest, is different for every crow and seems to be an identification, a password.

Until recently all bird calls were considered to be the product of inborn genetic programming, because some birds learn their own specie's song even if they never hear it. Spectrographic evidence seemed to bear this out. The spectrograph makes a visual record of bird song, and is invaluable in analyzing exactly what birds are saying because the tonal quality of their song is more than a matter of fundamentals and harmonics, pure notes and noises; the notes follow in such rapid succession that what we hear is not the sequence of individual notes but a summation of them. Crow calls,slowed down and transferred to graph.paper, seemed identical from bird to bird. But the old methods of analysis were tedious; three seconds of bird song might take months to chart and study. Today computers process the raw data almost ,instantly; scientists are finding subtle variations in the calls that once seemed so stereotyped. Crows have a wide vocabulary, and nobody knows any longer exactly how wide.

It gets the job done, however wide it is. I was at a friend's house watching football one afternoon and dogs and children romped indoors because the day was blustery and chill. Kip, a large Golden Retriever, made a nuisance of himself begging for food and dropping tennis balls in my lap. Finally somebody gave him a chicken leg and booted him out. I sat by the window and watched him settle down for a good chew. But a crow landed on the roof of the garage, flapped its wings and stalked to the edge. It stared down at Kip for a while, then flew to the telephone pole calling, "Caa-AH! Caa-AH!"

Within minutes two other crows showed up, skidding sideways in the wind. "AHA! AHA!" they said. The three of them discussed the situation at length, then went into what looked to me like the Bowery Boys' "Routine Seven." Crows A and B landed in front of Kip, who leaped to his feet with bone in teeth. The crows discussed the weather and the fine-looking bone and tried to engage Kip in the discussion; dimly, Kip sensed Something Was Up, dropped the bone, and planted a paw firmly on top of it. (Kip is a good enough retriever, but he is a rotten giver-backer.) The two crows flew into his face and he growled and snapped at them, standing his ground. Then crow C, who had been waiting in the bushes, strolled up unseen behind him and.delivered one precisely-placed peck. Kip whirled around, yelping, crow A snatched the bone, and the three crows flapped away to a tall palm to divvy their prize. The dog was forlorn; the crows came back several times yelling "HAW! HAW!"

Watch the disdainful strut of a crow at lunchtime in the park. As it heads across the lawn toward an abandoned chunk of sandwich, you see the gait of the dinosaurs.

The two-legged stalking dinosaurs invented warm blood long before the mammals thought of it. The bipedal stance freed the front limbs for specialization; birds are one result of that line of evolution. One branch of the line--sauronithoides--had stereo vision, manipulative fingers, and a large brain. Possibly it could have evolved into intelligence, but it died along with the rest of the dinosaurs in the great dieoff of 65 million years ago. The species that survived were either small, like lizards and insects; hairy, like the shrewlike mammals; or feathered, like birds. About ten million years after the dinosaurs passed, the order of Passerines, or perching birds, arose. Today nearly two-thirds of the world's birds are passerines; while such ancient specialized types as ostriches, pelicans, and cranes are on their way out,,the perching birds are still ascendent. And that relative newcomer, Corvus Brachyrhynchos, is today acknowledged to be the top of the family tree. Its cousins are the ravens and jays, but those birds have never attained the social advantages the crow enjoys because of its intelligence and ability to communicate.

While a newly-hatched chicken can feed itself within hours and can function virtually on its own within a-day, a crow is born naked and helpless. It demands nearly ceaseless feeding for a week. Crow parents make hundreds of trips each day to find enough food for their four or five babies, and only meat will do: insects preferred. Unlike most other birds, crows recognize their own young and so avoid the, common birdbrain mistake of feeding any gaping mouth that comes into view.

Crow babies enjoy an extended childhood, just as humans do. Like human babies, they use this time to learn. By the time a crow is grown, it can cope with just about any situation that turns up, and probably will end up making a profit on the deal. They are curious, which grown chickens are not, and a little deviation from the norm is intensely interesting to them. Once a crow learns that certain rare events are linked with food it will never forget, and the advanced crow language lets one bird pass on the information to another.

Crows are always up early. Before people are awake and stirring up trouble, crows are out in the fields using their beaks, turning over stones for grubs, poking down into brush for beetles, digging through loose soil for mealworms. Crows will eat almost anything, but they prefer animal food: insects, baby birds, eggs, mice-- whatever they can get their beaks on. Young birds require animal food because they are growing at an explosive rate, but full-grown crows can (and do) eat carrion, seeds, corn, grains, and wild or cultivated fruit as well. In nesting time, in spring and early summer, the pickings are good and the baby crows thrive; when days-are short in winter, the crows eat whatever they can find or move on to the next county. They're migratory birds, but their migrations seem more an intelligent decision than a mindless flocking; if the local food supply remains adequate, they won't migrate at all.

Sometimes that can get to be a problem for the suffering humans in the neighborhood. One summer our neighbor went on vacation for a month and nobody picked the cherry tree in his back yard when it came ripe. The neighbor had sprayed, pruned and pampered it for one week in a fit of enthusiasm in May., and it produced mightily. The fruit lay in heaps on the ground. After a couple of weeks the smell was high and crows started hanging out. They hopped around on the moldy pile, stopping with cocked head to stare at certain spots, then plunging their beaks under the surface.

They were noisier than I'd ever heard crows be before.They filled the branches of the tree, arguing and debating with branchmates from dawn till dusk. They flew like amateurs, crashing into each other and the tree trunk and the nearby garage. They had the most trouble when they.tried to fly up and away from the cherry pile. It was a crow bar, and they were all drunk as skunks and twice as obnoxious.

Those sneering and squabbling crows plagued our every waking moment. They tricked bright playthings from children and sent them sobbing into the house, befouled every car parked under a tree, ruined prized gardens, and kept everybody's nerves on edge for three days. The day the neighbor returned, the whole neighborhood came out and helped shovel dirt over the cherry pile.

This was nothing compared to the swarms of the Plains States earlier in the century. Before Columbus, the endless grassy prairies had neither nestworthy tall trees nor an adequate food supply for crows; the pioneers supplied both. Roosts of literally hundreds of thousands of crows arrived at harvest time to feast on fields of grain, and I can sympathize with the farmers of the day, who were inspired to invention by these attacks.

The way todiscourage crows from flocking in your favorite tree is simple: take your garbage can and fill it three inches deep with ball bearings, then put in a layer of dynamite four inches deep. Add another three inches of ball bearings, then another four inches of dynamite, etc, until the can is full. Hook all the detonator caps to one electrical lead, then hang the whole damned can up in the tree. Retire to a prudent distance, wait until all the crows gather, then push the plunger. Works every time.

Today crows are protected by Federal laws, since they are technically migratory songbirds, and I'm sure they laugh themselves to sleep about that at night. But they still have some natural enemies, chief among them the Owl. When crows spot a day-sleeping owl, a great hurrah arises, audible for miles. Great numbers of crows swiftly gather to peck and shriek at the owl, but rarely do much damage. Usually, the owl stands its ground, great eyes blinking and fearsome claws at the ready, and refuses to come out into the open where the crows could rip it apart. The crows are reluctant to get too close, and eventually give up the attack.

One observer has an explanation for this: "To Crow, a large owl is every dark and fearful dream come true. All of Crow's wit and wisdom is no avail against the onslaught of owl, and all crows know it. In the black midwatches of the night, a great horned owl will sweep through a roost like the Angel of Death, soft and silent and consumately deadly. Nor is it just a matter of one owl seizing one crow: the owl may strike repeatedly, feasting only on head and brains. It is a nightmare that Crow remembers thorugh all the daytimes of his life, regarding owls with a primal dread that most men.have happily forgotten."

But crows have few other enemies. Mockingbirds may swarm upward to battle crows like World War II fighter planes harassing a bomber, but if you look closely you will probably see a baby bird or an egg in the crow's beak. And crows enjoy bedeviling big birds of prey like eagles and hawks, vultures and buzzards. Crows are aggressors, stealing food from the larger birds and driving them from crow turf. The grating scream of an attacking crow indicates his lack of fear: it is a samurai war cry.

Crows stick together. Though they nest independently, they gather at night and talk the day over. on a midsummer evening they're apt to meet in Micheltorena Park and pre-empt the place-for themselves, filling tree after tree with squabbling black quasi-reptilian conniving individualists. Cliqueish groups break off and head to other trees, and eventually more of the crowd moves to the fashionable new tree. This disgusts the trend-setters, who move to still newer roosts or batter away newcomers. Feathers fly and outcast individuals are sometimes pecked to death. Birds with the lowest community status must rest in the bottom branches of the tree, and a lot of the time they wake up white in the morning.

But it is probably as individuals that crows make their greatest impression on us. Loren Eisely captured the essence of one crow in The Immense Journey:


----------------------------------------------------------

"The whole countryside was buried in one of the thickest fogs in years. The ceiling was absolutely zero. All planes were grounded, and even a pedestrian could hardly see his own outstretched hand.

"I was groping across a field in the general direction of the railroad station, following a climly outlined path. Suddenly, out of "the fog, at about the level of my eyes, and so closely I flinched, there flashed a pair of immense black wings and a huge beak. The whole bird rushed over my head with a frantic cawing outcry of such hideous terror as I have.never heard in a crow's voice before, and never expect to hear again.

"Merely being lost in a fog seemed scarcely to account for the great awkward cry--especially in a tough, intelligent old bandit such as I knew that particular crow to be. I even looked in a mirror to see what it might be.about me that had so revolted him that he had cried out in such protest.

"Finally, as I worked my way homeward along the path, the solution came to me. The borders of our worlds had shifted. It was the fog that had done it. That crow, and I knew him well, never under any circumstances flew low near men. He had been lost, all right, but it was more than that. He had thought he was high up, and.when he encountered me looming gigantically through the fog, he had perceived.a ghastly and, to the crow mind, unnatural sight. He had seen a man walking on air, desecrating the very heart of the crow kingdom, a harbinger of the most profound evil a crow mind could conceive: air-walking men.

"He caws now when he sees me leaving for the station in the morning, and I fancy that in that note I catch the uncertainty of a mind that has come to know that things are not always what they seem. He has seen a marvel in his heights of air and is no longer as other crows."




----------------------------------------------------------

They're an alien race, crows. As different from us as dolphins are, in their own way. If they seem more familiar, it is only because their intelligence has evolved in tandem with ours, just as that of dogs and rats has. The crow is so smart and adaptable that it will continue to fit into the world of man, despite our objections. They have their own plan, and tolerate man in it. While other birds falter in the face of our constructions and depredations, crows prosper. They're itinerants, wandering where they will and concentrating where the living is easy.

Their brain is not the equal of ours, but it is parallel. It is a shrewd biological computer with its own special intelligence, its own sense of time and space.

And the most disconcerting thing about studying Crow is that you find a cold, calculating gaze studying you back.....



Colin Campbell