(no subject)

Yesterday, I trudged up the hill to do laundry. I have to go up a narrow, winding street with no sidewalk. It's quiet and verdant and scares the crap out of me. I saw a crow on a wire scratching its head like a cat. I don't think I've ever noticed this behavior in crows, but hey, no reason why they shouldn't. But on the way home, I passed what was probably the same crow, but now it was on the ground. It cawed at me and hopped right across the street to my feet. It wasn't tiny, but it was thin and sleek, and the look in its eyes was that of someone who did not know how the world worked. It was probably a teenager, but it looked up at me imploringly and cawed like a baby. I've never looked directly into the pink mouth of a crow before. I've never had anything think I was its mother. In a nearby tree, two crows were cawing persistantly. Probably its parents. But it seemed to prefer me. I was, after all, sparklier.

Now, just the night before, we'd been talking about pet birds. csinman had just taken an injured seagull home to stash in his bathtub until wildlife rehab could pick it up. And he is constantly going on about the filthy black blob which we saw in New York and which some people might call a pigeon. I professed that while I'd never wanted a pet seagull (though I did once want to be one) I would like a pet crow.

Is it wise to turn down the universe?

For the sake of the crow and my damage deposit, yes.

I am, however, sorely tempted to go back there and leave out some food for it. You know, just... hang out with it. It's good to be friends with the crows, right?