A Murder of Crows
Me: What is that?
Him: Owl. Owl.
When I was younger, there was a film called The Crow that I loved. Heard they’re gonna re-do it.
Always thought that crows were cool. They’re all black, sociable, are one of the few animals that mourn their dead, and seek revenge.
Alison, however, preferred owls. In fact, we have several owl figures in the house, all purchased by Alison throughout the years. She was always surprised when I pointed out that we had other owls here and there.
Her: Oh! I didn’t even notice. I wonder what it is about owls that I like?
Me: What’s there not to like? They’re nocturnal, solitary, eat everything, are highly intelligent, and are quietly dangerous.
Her: (laughing) I’m going to name it “Reginald.”
The Gymgirl also likes owls, as her family name has a part that means owl in her native language.
As luck would have it, one of the first words from my son is owl. He can recognize both regular and barn owls as owls.
I find the whole thing both peculiar and interesting
Since everything went down, I don’t suffer superstition well. I don’t believe in signs or the supernatural or anything of the like.
But I do like this, somehow. That my son likes owls. It must be Alison in him. This little thing makes me happier than you might imagine.
Did you know that owls and crows are mortal, natural enemies? They will try to kill each other on sight.
I’ve always said that we spend our lives seeking out our tribes. So, perhaps I was a crow that became an owl. Or maybe I was an owl all along.
It’s better this way, I suppose.
A group of owls is called a parliament. A group of crows is called a murder. I’d rather be a party of a parliament than party to a murder.
Current political climate notwithstanding.