Poetry
Gathering Twigs
Baby crows, coming soon

For days now, they’ve been gathering twigs.
They harvest the sprigs with such delicacy, perching on thin fingers of pine, sharp talons and beaks stripping them clean.
The fall of the pruned greenery tumbling to the hill catches your eye before you even spot the crows, who puddle into the shadows.
Is it intentional, the wood they choose? Meant for the spine of the nest? Or for the weave?
It seems to me to be so.
For I’ve seen them reject whole segments they’d chosen and cleaned, but which must not have been right for exactly their need, at that moment.
For almost a week now, they’ve flown, sun break to the goldening hour, circling, crackling, crying to one another.
“Hurry up, honey,” they seem to be saying.
“Those babies are coming. We have to be ready.”
They must be exhausted.
But nature always heeds its own call. And I don’t think that it will be very long now until tiny crackles and cries will be drifting down to earth from that architectural masterpiece halfway to the sky.
I’ve been watching these crows fly back and forth, endlessly, from the pine tree in my neighbor’s yard, where they are building their nest, to the pines on the hill behind my house. Crows, if you didn't know, are highly intelligent and are able to use tools.
I’d read about how, when presented with a treat tied to a long string on a branch, they will step on that string with one foot and then use the other foot to pull the treat up. They’ve been doing something very much like that with the twigs that they are harvesting — holding on with one foot, and then using the other to strip the greenery from the branch.
The activity seems to have ended now. While I still see them flying around, they must have finished their construction, because they are not stripping branches anymore.
And I’ve got my eye out for those baby crows.

Erika Burkhalter is a yogi, neurophilosopher, cat-mom, photographer, and lover of travel and nature, spreading her love and amazement for Mother Earth’s glories, one photo, poem or story at a time. (MS Neuropsychology, MA Yoga Studies).
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Poem, photo and story ©Erika Burkhalter. All rights reserved.