The crows are gone. They aren’t flying to their nest anymore. A few nights ago, I was going to the bathroom at about 2AM and I heard several of them sounding frantic, crying and cawing. I ran out to my front steps and turned on my phone to record the sound, but they’d already gone silent. I looked for the shadow of an owl, any kind of night-time nest marauder, but couldn’t find anything. Ever since that night, they’ve been quiet.
I’ve become attached to that crow family. Perhaps they’re still there, just quiet. Probably not. But as I peer at the tree, which is visible from my kitchen window, I can still see their nest, as solid as ever, darkening the crown of that sturdy pine. I find comfort in the fact that the nest is still there, like a home that is warm and welcoming after a disastrous day. Especially during this pandemic, I hope it’s true for you, that going home is always a salve, an exhalation, a reprieve. And if not, I hope you can gather beautiful things along your journey and create your very own place of refuge.