Needing a new watch battery, I was headed into the jewelry shop.
But out front on the boulevard walk I stopped. There stood two crows nearly under my nose. They were facing each other, clicking the tips of their beaks together. Clearly, it was not per chance. Their aim was perfect.
Click, click, click, not twice or three times. Four, five, six. . .
Really? I thought. Is this kissing? Then one crow circled the other
round and round. A dance ritual? Before I could think to count, they switched roles. Suddenly the second circling bird mounted the other, momentarily fluttered its shiny black wings widely spread and leapt off. Then together they teetered around the corner.
I had neither stepped a millimeter nor moved a muscle.
Now I scanned a circled space hoping to find another witness,
someone to offer confirmation. I knew that If I were to relate the tale
to anyone I’d likely be called cuckoo.
I had known that crows are exceptionally smart birds, but this live, happenstance on a city street flew above and beyond anything I’d read,
heard, or seen on a video.
Then, seemingly out of the clear afternoon sky, I heard a voice.
“Did. You. See. That?” A young man, asked, as he stepped out from the barbershop doorway. “Yes, yes, yes, I did,” I replied.
There we stood, two humans simply nodding. What need was there to speak when there were no words at sharing such a moment.
Nancy Smiler Levinson is the author of a poetic memoir, Moments of Dawn, and a chapbook, The Diagnosis Changes Everything. Her work has appeared in Ink in Thirds, Hamilton Stone Review, Silver Birch Press, Jewish Literary Journal, Sledgehammer, and elsewhere. In past chapters of her life she published some thirty books for young readers. She lives and writes in L.A.
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