The British nursery rhyme, not the band. Although I did really love that band once upon a time...
In the rhyme, crows are counted as a means to predict the future. The thought was that each crow had a meaning and their aggregate was able to foretell what was going to happen next.
Of course, they were actually counting magpies and not crows in jolly old England...
I have always had this passion for crows. A few years ago, after never seeing a baby crow in my life, I found three in as many weeks. I took them all to the wild bird sanctuary, which I regret on an almost daily basis now. I wish I would have kept one. I know, I know they are wild birds and not meant to be domesticated. Even though I know I did the right thing, I still regret dropping Poe off.
I think what I love about them is their cleverness and their irreverent attitude. They are just fucking cool. Simple, elegant and large enough to give anyone pause. They are neither cute nor endearing as some of their smaller feather friends. They, instead, are bold, opinionated and tricky.
Every morning outside my house, they gather. Cawing and descending to and from the telephone wire. They come down and join up in threes and fours, which according to the nursery rhyme, means a wedding and a birth are forthcoming. I really need to start counting more closely because right now I do not want either a wedding or a birth!
I have a crow tattoo on my arm. It is very simple, and I think, elegant. When I see it, it reminds me that life is very serious but that it should be fun also. The daily chores of living should not be taken so seriously there isn’t time to collect shiny things or have small caucuses with others. I need this reminder. I can get so swept away with all my feelings of importance and severity.
Counting crows has become a pastime. A novelty of living in a place they frequent. I am not sure how my house and yard became crow central but it did, every morning. And I have realized, just while writing this, that I have come to rely on their calls to each other as a measure of grounding and safety and continuity in this life. They are always there, frequently just beyond my perception, and it is only in their absence that I notice them at all sometimes. And I am just like that, I guess, as a person. I miss people in their absence and fail to take into account how much their daily presence actually means.
For me counting crows is yet another method of counting my blessings. I know, weird. But hey, if you have read this blog at all, you already are well aware of the level of weird going on over here! For those of you that are new, welcome to crazy. Sit down, relax, stay awhile. I promise it shall be forever entertaining watching me attempt to do life without anesthetic.
My favorite number of crows? Seven...for the secret never to be told...because it appears to be my purpose in this life to tell all the secrets, all the things I would rather keep quiet about, to hold closely and privately. There is some great energy that seems to force me, often very against my will, to reveal the inner workings and the attendant suffering caused. And then share that without discernment for who might read it and what they might do with it...which, I am not going to lie, feels very crowy. They are just the kind of assholes that will totally tell you they will keep your confidence, but then, reveal it all. Not out of malice or spite, but out of a belief and practice of not holding things back, instead offering up shiny things like secrets for all to see, forever keeping it real and unpredictable.
“But there's a bird that nests inside you
Sleeping underneath your skin
Yeah, when you open up your wings to speak
I wish you'd let me in”
Perhaps it is this “Murder of One” idea that captivates me best...crows are ultimately good at joining up, sharing and then moving on. Only to return the next morning to do the same. And I envy them their countenance and consistency. Their mirth and energy...such an emblem for me to keep working at all the change required in this life...
“All your life is such a shame, shame, shame
All your love is just a dream, dream, dream
Open up your eyes, you can see the flames, flames, flames
Of your wasted life, you should be ashamed”
“Change, change, change...”
Again...still.
Comments