A Cluster of Crows

Looking out from behind the counter into the restaurant, I was reminded of a cluster of crows.

Not only was every table taken, people stood in twos and threes between them, wine glasses and margaritas held high, voices shrill and shrieking, each trying to drown out the other. The bar was four deep and harried servers darted back and forth, balancing trays and plates and crystal with enviable skill. Though I was thirty feet from the nearest table, I could hear the cross conversations and the drink orders, the debates over which wine to try, the familiar pick up lines being tried, all the social niceties being put into play, southern style. The Thursday night musicians arrived, set up in a crowded corner and began their repertoire of cover songs, though I doubted anyone was listening, and gradually the image of crows became an image of chattering magpies - all noise and nonsense.

I sometimes wonder if a world with less noise wouldn't be a better world in which to hear, if we weren't all trying so hard to out do, out shout and out argue ourselves. Perhaps we would be better listeners - willing to yield some of our precious time to the opposition, willing to make room for another perspective and relinquish the spotlight of moral certainty to another's point of view. My daddy would laugh at me for such thinking, tell me to have more faith and worry less about the dark side of human nature, to trust in right conquering wrong and good outliving evil. It was an argument he made often and I think, at times, actually believed if only for the sake of his children and his peace of mind. It wasn't quite as loud a world then and being inherently a gentle, peaceful and fair minded man, he needed to see the good. He was perpetually in search of a silver lining, always expecting a rainbow after each storm and a generous minded elf at every rainbow's end.

I suspect that if a cluster of crows had invaded the backyard maple tree, even if he'd had the means to shoot at them, he'd have tried shushing them first.