The Caw

Day 167 (Part B): How could I refuse to take a picture of my cousin here, especially when he engaged me in conversation for ten minutes or more? "Caw...caw...caw," he said; an acknowledgment or greeting from one who recognized a kindred spirit. "Caw," I replied; the equivalent of, "Good morning, I think it's going to rain today." "Caw...caw...caw," he repeated, which (if you are a crow) is a continuation of the thought-concept being entertained at the moment, i.e., "Yes, I think you're right, and there's not much we can do about it so we might as well accept the fact." At that point, my vocabulary failed me. I speak only a few words of my native tongue and lack the proper grasp of syntax and nuance of pronunciation. My friend didn't seem to mind. I remarked that the blackbirds were certainly numerous, and my companion turned around on his branch to verify the fact. Then he picked up a tiny stick which he'd been holding between his feet, heretofore out of my line of vision. He toyed with it for a few minutes, faced me with it held in his beak, and then placed it back underfoot. Clearly, it was a very special stick, all two inches of it. We continued our verbal exchange for another several sentences, and then I excused myself to continue on my way in town, having completely forgotten to mention the heron fishing among the cattails. Caw!