Stand-Off in Heritage Park

As I entered the small copse of woods
on my morning walk, I was suddenly
aware of urgent, alarmed crow calls,
varying degrees of hoarse excitement, 
agitated volleys that could have been
heckling, berating, even some
feathered corvid-style intimidation.

The bird-din swelled as I drew close
and my first thought was that a pair
of nesting crows were being overly
possessive of territory they’d staked
and I was the interloper here.

As I entered the raucous grove
and neared the tumult epicenter
I could see four, perhaps five crows,
the source of this black racket,
perched to good vantage on perimeter
branches of the old aspen, all facing
inward at something nearer
the tree’s gnarled and pocked trunk.

A few steps more and there –
the larger grey shape and upthrust ears
of the intruder, a Great Grey Owl.

Small wonder the crows were in
such high dudgeon as they beaked
whatever sharp epithets crows have
in their lexicon to harry such
an ominous foe. Is this schoolyard
bullying in the bird world? Or is this
the bully getting his just dessert?

The hulking grey trespasser sat
silent, impassive as stone, paying
no attention to his persecutors
and the black curses they pelted
from the safety of their perches.
But its eyes stared out and down
at me as I passed, fixing me with
the baleful glare only a large owl
can summon from its repertoire
of expressions, as if somehow I
were the threat in this forest din,
as if the crows were disturbed
by my presence, not its own.

I have no idea how long this
avian stand-off may have lasted.
I passed by. This morning there were
 neither crows nor owl in any tree
that I could see. Forest quiet
was everywhere. Who knows
how this little drama ended,
which side relented? Perhaps they
came to some bird compromise.

Today the woods are calm
and only a few witnesses and you,
of course, will know of this at all.

© Glen Sorestad