Crows gather in the birch tree at the corner of the yard. It’s strategically located near water and food, tall enough to give the watchers a view over the creek basin below. When a hawk tries to loiter among the branches, spying unwary sparrows, the crows rally a posse and chase it away. Even the solo crow assigned as a watcher will dart and dive to roust a raptor, while she calls for her tribe.
The birch tree is possibly 50 feet tall. The ice storm last December broke it. Through the summer I watched to see if it would muster enough canopy to survive. No, alas, it will come down in the next few days, cut into firewood lengths (though soft) and the scrap chewed up in a chipper.
There are other trees in the yard. November comes and all lets go to litter. One black crow perched on bare branches.
Without the shade and shelter of this birch, the little landscape is transformed.