Dancers, Painters, Poets, and Philosophers

Looked at as a metaphor for death and impending doom, crows generally have a poor reputation in our society. For me, they are fascinating creatures, and one of the few animals I would choose to be if Hindu beliefs were truly fundamental, second only to the elephant, after I depart this lifetime. I sat on a bench and watched a crow pacing in the air from one perch to the other for about an hour, never tiring of its overwhelming nobility in this kingdom of animals.

Crows are highly intellectual birds and although they speak very little and do not have a harmonious melody to chirp for spring, when they have something to say, it is heard with emphatic clarity. They have the freedom to live in any climate at any season during the year simply because they can solve basic survival conundrums easier than a robin or a blue jay. There was a story I heard once that a group of crows living by a walnut tree would wait until a traffic light turned red, place the walnuts under the wheels of the cars, then picked them up, fully cracked and ready to eat, safely, after all of the cars had left the intersection. Now, as a creature of "superior" intelligence, frankly, I'm impressed. That may have never occurred to me if placed in a dire walnut cracking situation. Although I have seen flocks of crows, mostly in my youth spent in New England where many of the myths surrounding these intellectuals originate, they are perfectly capable of being individuals. It could be that crows are not unlike humans in that they desire the comfort, security, and joy of having company, or maybe they really do need each other.

After a while I noticed that I wasn't just observing the crow, it was watching me equally as much. Perhaps this was a survival instinct, or maybe, I like to think, it was a healthy curiosity. Every time it landed it would turn and catch my gaze for a minute, focused and sincere, then fly to the next perch. I began to dream that there could be a chance that this bird was just as fascinated with me as I was with it. It may have been organizing the same thoughts that I am arduously pouring out on this page, only in reverse, of course.

This lucky animal not gets to fly wherever he or she wishes, do whatever it would like, think of bold new ways of living its daily life, but also has the profound privilege of being beautiful. Look at a crow, really look at a crow, notice the way the feathers can reflect sunlight in rainbows, the same way an oil slick can be mesmerizing on a hot summer day. Study their eyes, always moving, truthful and adventurous. The way they move, the art in their flight, leaps of faith to the ground that are ironically calculable. They are dancers, painters, poets, and philosophers. They speak when they need to be heard, when it is important. It may not be musically perfect, but it is said with passion and enthusiasm. It was then that I wanted to be a crow, or maybe, just for a day.