Three Crows, Same Tree, Same Time

I want to talk about crows today. I know it sounds mundane compared to radio frequencies and mysterious hums, but hear me out.

There's a dead oak about half a mile from my cabin. Lightning got it two summers ago. Nothing special about it—just a skeleton of a tree waiting to fall.

But for the past eleven days, three crows have landed on that tree at exactly 6:47 PM. Three crows. Same branches. Same order—largest one first, then the two smaller ones exactly four minutes later.

I've watched them through my binoculars. They don't caw. They don't preen. They just... sit there. Facing east. For exactly seventeen minutes. Then they leave, one at a time, in reverse order.

Now, I'm not saying crows are sending me messages. That's exactly what they want you to think. (Kidding. Mostly.)

But I've lived in these woods for three years now. I know crow behavior. They're smart, social, chaotic. They argue. They play. They mob hawks and steal my jerky if I leave it out.

These three? They're performing a ritual. And I don't use that word lightly.

I started mapping other animal behaviors around the same time. The deer have changed their path—they used to cross by the creek, now they go around the ridge. The night insects have shifted too. Used to hear the first cricket at 7:15. Now it's 7:42.

Something changed in these woods. I can feel it in my gut, the same way you feel a storm coming before the clouds show up.

Could be natural. Migration patterns. Climate shifts. A new predator I haven't spotted yet.

But what if it's not?

The crows are still at it. I'll keep watching. Keep noting.

Patterns matter more than names.