I’ve been watching the crows who live in the trees near where I park on my lunch. Sometimes I toss them some crackers, and one of the bolder ones will hop over, make a noise at me and run off with it.
Just now I saw a baby crow take flight, flapping its wings furiously against the merciless onslaught of the dust storm that’s blowing through.
Its parent and cracker snatcher extraordinaire watched with–and this isn’t my imagination–concern as the baby bird triumphantly zigzagged across the hazy pink sky. It was like a scene from a Disney movie. I could almost hear a “Wahooooooooo!” or some other similar exclamation of exuberance often heard in those films.
I teared up a little. It moved me, this heartwarming coming-of-age scenario I’d projected onto the situation.
For all I knew, though, that baby bird has already been flying for weeks. It’s also possible that it wasn’t a baby crow at all, but a smaller black bird being chased away from big mama crow’s territory.
Perception doesn’t dictate reality.