It’s been a long while — to be exact, since Christmas — since we heard from Berna, our Irish correspondent over in County Kildare. Here she is, walking again at Clongowes, in what’s becoming spring in Ireland, while we in the Northeast U.S. are about to be buried in the white stuff yet again:
Did a solitary Clongowes walk this morning – my only company were the crows in the large trees that line the main avenue. They have a rather spooky sound, but they are a cheeky lot. When I put out crumbs for the smaller birds they arrive in their black Mafiosi suits and gobble the best bits. The robins and willy-wag-tails have to wait for the tiny crumbs that are left. It’s hard to like crows.
I agree, it’s hard to like crows. But this morning, in the wake of our umpteenth snowstorm, nothing moving except huge white flakes, I’d welcome even them. I’m not a haiku writer, not a poet of any kind, but I am moved to this truncated effort:
not even crows