A murder? of crows? my word!

We bet you know that what would be a "flock" of crows is called a "murder." For the record, we disagree with this writer who claims

"I’ve never once used “parliament” for owls or “murder” for crows or anything of the sort.  Or heard anyone else use them.  A group of birds—any birds— is a “flock.” A group of cows is a “herd.”  Other than that, I just don’t see enough groups of other animals to need more words."

those small black dots are a murder

Photo by J. Harrington

That writer seems to lack poetry in his soul. We, on the other hand, are in alignment with Robert Macfarlane, author of Landmarks and, more recently, The Lost Words, and others who are concerned with the need to have words specific to people, places or things like groups, flocks or herds. Geese, for example, are a skein or wedge in flight and a gaggle on the ground. Sandhill cranes in a group are referred to with "many collective nouns, including a "construction", "dance", "sedge", "siege", and "swoop" of cranes. So, if you're looking for fewer words, this probably isn't the best place for you to visit, although might we be able to persuade you to hear read us out?

a closer view of a murder

Photo by J. Harrington

All of the preceding has been triggered by the descent into what passes for our "back yard" of a murder of crows this morning. In fact, they descended several times to explore several locations. We can but speculate they may have been looking for food (road kill has been sparse recently). If not, we can't begin to speculate what they were up to or why they were up to whatever it was.

Their descents didn't last long and now the murder is no where to be seen. We've had crows roosting in the neighborhood, including, sometimes, in some of the trees behind the house. Never before do we recall seeing more than one or two at a time land on the property. We do seem to be living in strange times.

The Poetry of Ted Hughes
From Crow

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Crow Goes Hunting Crow Decided to try words. He imagined some words for the job, a lovely pack- Clear-eyed, resounding, well-trained, With strong teeth. You could not find a better bred lot. He pointed out the hare and away went the words Resounding. Crow was Crow without fail, but what is a hare? It converted itself to a concrete bunker. The words circled protesting, resounding. Crow turned the words into bombs-they blasted the bunker. The bits of bunker flew up-a flock of starlings. Crow turned the words into shotguns, they shot down the starlings. The falling starlings turned to a cloudburst. Crow turned the words into a reservoir, collecting the water. The water turned into an earthquake, swallowing the reservoir. The earthquake turned into a hare and leaped for the hill Having eaten Crow's words. Crow gazed after the bounding hare Speechless with admiration.

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