Yesterday a horned owl sat stoically in a tree from 1:30 in the afternoon until night fall. He frequently sits on the telephone poles, according to my urban hiker neighbour, scowling for mice. Yesterday he made an error. The Maple tree in our side yard harbors a nest of young crows. The entire crow community for five blocks which is comprised of more than twenty members were on screetch alert. They dived bombed, yelled, circled and generally harassed the owl who could not in safety move at all. Feathers ended up on the lawn, white and gray fluffy feathers.

This period of six hours was cacophonous and head splitting. The fury, the noise, the vigilance was impressive.
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It was interesting for me to observe in myself a shifting of alleigancies. At first, I thought, “poor baby birds, poor anxious parents.” Then after going outside and experiencing the ferociousness of the onslaught, I began to feel pity for the owl. After enough hours, I began to be more concerned about the ruckus itself and not its cause. Interesting that I feel I have to make a value judgment, isn’t it. The owl is simply looking for a way to survive, his meal. The crows are simply looking for a way to survive, the protection of progeny. The scenario was as stirring as any movie. Who wins? There is no winning or losing. There is just living out the moment.