Up and down, back and forth: the tractor worked through the
fields, cutting silage. Row after row of long grass stripes the field now as it
dries. The activity drew a murder of crows. Aptly named. Their rough caws steal
the peace. When the summer dawn broke around 3.30 this morning, the chorus of crows
started up, wakening our sleeping household.
Our dawn chorus usually opens with the beautiful song of the
blackbirds, quickly joined by all the rest: chaffinches, blue and great tits,
swallows, even cuckoos. We love the gentle harmonies and rhythms of our morning
wake-up call.
Today, though, it is just the murder of crows we hear. Or is
it? When I sit still and listen, I hear the gentle cooing of the pigeons. Underneath
the cacophony of caws, I hear the voices of our songbirds as they continue to
go about their business. The single-parent blue tit (bereaved of its partner by
our cat…boo) continues to work feverishly to feed its noisy brood in the
birdhouse. The cuckoo has come closer this year, right into one of our trees:
probably it has stolen the nest of a blackbird.
Life is hard, and sometimes the murder of crows we hear in
our hearts drowns out the sweet songs of life. But the sweet songs continue, if
we take time to listen, and have an ear to hear.
May we all hear the songs of angels today, their chorus of
praise to the creator overwhelming the rough caws of anxieties and stresses,
and bringing us the peace of God.
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