as the crow flies….

as the crow flies....

{While it’s not necessarily clear what’s happening here from the image alone, Pony’s pose reflects a perverse sort of impulse I always have this time of year — to go out around nightfall to campus town, where all the trees are, and stomp loudly, just once. What will that do, you might ask? Well, in that particular time and place, it will inevitably call up the most massive cloud of crows you have ever seen. They roost in the trees, in droves, taking up every branch and filling out the skeleton trees entirely, like a strange set of mourning leaves worn in memory of summer’s green. One loud sound startles flocks upon flocks, not just one tree but a whole chain, and if you get the timing just right they erupt magnificently against a crisp blue dusk or the flaming red remnants of sunset. Of course, you’re also likely to find yourself deafened by cranky caws and engulfed in a cloud of feathers and droppings if you stood too close — which is perhaps why Shetland looks so concerned here — but such is the price one pays for art.}


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