Ever since I've been at the Press — four-plus years, for those keeping track — downtown has had a peculiar seasonal population. Every winter, a murder of crows moves into the trees in the center of the city.
This weekend on the way between the office and home, I was greeted by familiar caws. A glance upward was greeted with a vision of hundreds of crows perched in the nude branches of nearby trees.
Why do they show up every year? I don't know. I'll try to find some answers and report back here.
(For added fun if you happen upon the flock, caw back and flap your arms, and watch countless black shapes take to the sky. As a drawback — or possibly a bonus — it'll annoy the hell out of the neighbors.)