Crow on the beach

This morning’s sunshine is totally unexpected, and this, combined with low tide, allows a good exploration of the beach.    It’s beautiful, of course, and there are flocks of the expected grey-white sea birds enjoying the many tidal pools. Amongst them, though, are interlopers: carrion crows. It’s only recently that I’ve noticed these graceless hopping bulks amongst the more elegant  gulls. Is it a new phenomenon, or just something I haven’t noticed? 

As carrion birds, they are, of course, opportunistic and unfussy feeders, and it seems they have developed a taste for shellfish, picking up a mollusc, and dropping it from high like gulls to break its shell. 

Here, our crow has found a small shell - probably a flat periwinkle - and holds it in its beak. It’s actually quite majestic - beautifully iridescent in the sun, strong and almost sculptural in stature. 

Perhaps - like Llandudno’s famous goats - they’re taking advantage of the lockdown world, and I’m reminded of a poem written by the children’s author Phillip Caveney, all those months ago when we though the first lockdown was the only one we’d have - though we were acutely aware of changes in our familiar world - we no longer had control. 

Co(r)vids
I’m uncomfortably 
aware of the irony.
It’s just their name. 
And now 
They sit in the trees,
Dark as mischief,
More of them
Each day,
Watching imperiously 
As we shuffle by.
They are sleekly
Confident,
Plump as Christmas,
Their beaks sharp,
Their glittering eyes
Saying it proudly.
‘It’s natural selection,
Baby.
This is our space now.
And you’re not welcome here.