CROW, HOPKINS, WINGS

Outside earlier, putting out peanuts for crows and jays. A crow stood on the deck edge, waiting for me.

Now, I love crows and ravens (and bluejays). Corvids are so damn smart and curious, and yes, they have brought me gifts.

This morning: one massive crow, the bumps on its legs and talons easily visible from my porch doorway — ancient ancestors within, dinosaurs once — the light dancing over its plumage in rippling skirts of blue, sienna, and black. It flew off to a nearby branch as I entered its world, the outside, and watched as I poured out the nuts. I stayed there a few moments, just taking in the sight of the sky and the smack of the air, always brisk and a bit salty after a storm here; the crows watched me. I know they don’t like to eat peanuts when I am out there, so I left, the crows swooping down as I turned my back to open the door.

I blessed them, and then I started chanting the Gerard Manley Hopkins poem below. Gerard, b’y: ya got it: “ah, bright wings!”

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44395/gods-grandeur