We were walking across the abandoned school yard when I heard them. They are always the noisiest birds around, so they are easy to spot.
It was our neighborhood flock of crows. (A flock of crows is actually called a “murder” of crows, for some odd reason, but I digress.)
This morning they were congregated in a big oak next to the last house on the road, and they were causing quite a ruckus, for reasons known only to them.
The crows seem to me to be the bad boys (and girls) of the neighborhood. They always seem to be causing trouble and lording it over everyone else. They are noisy, confident, cocky, even.
Their only real competition is the blue jays, most of whom have gone south for the winter, so the crows are temporarily head of their fiefdom.
When I was growing up, I was such a good girl that I could never be a bad girl. I didn’t even have the guts to try out being a bad girl. Not that this is something that I am particularly proud of. Life was just simpler and very polarized back then. Between the two, good girl seemed to be the better option.
Now my life is more grey than black and white. I enjoy the crows. And, for the most part, I admire and appreciate them.
They are clever, resilient, and quite resourceful. They are also highly intelligent.
But what I like best about them is that they are rambunctious and playful. Every fall, they assemble in the black walnut tree in our back yard, and they pick off every walnut that still remains on the tree, for no good reason, except to see them drop, it seems.
They, along with their relatives, the ravens, are associated with trickster energy.
In mythology, tricksters challenge authority. They break all the rules. They are mischievious.
I need trickster energy. I need to challenge convention, and to step outside of the box. I need to be playful. Today, the crows came to remind me of that.
Where do you need trickster energy?
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