I woke this morning to a dull grey sky and great cacophony of crow voices shouting from just beyond the trees. The din continues even now. To what end? I don’t know. If flocking crows are called a “murder,” then this is the most audacious, persistent and outrageous murder I’ve ever encountered. Does this bode well for my writing? In truth, it may be just the thing …
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Archangel Stomp 
Shades of Steven King?
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Mmm. Think of it as atmosphere.
No way to do yard work with such mysterious goings-on, I think; better stay in and write…
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It was all I could do not to spend the morning seeking this black-feathered mob to discover their purpose …
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