“They arrive as a river in the sky.”
My friend Bill wrote that the other day on his website to describe atmospheric rivers and how rain happens in Seattle.
I liked that line so much, he said I could take it. You can keep reading if you want, but seriously, it’s not getting any better than “a river in the sky.”
Visualize any river you want in your sky, but mine is a river of crows.
freestocks.org/Pexels.com
Yes, we’ve moved on from rain in Seattle to crows in Virginia.
(And, if you keep reading – and, look, I’m not saying you should, I’m only saying you could – eventually we’re going to get to baseball. But, mostly, we’re talking crows today. But, baseball, if you’re patient. And, if you were patient enough to sit through a nearly seven-hour World Series game last month, you can certainly wade through this river of words that won’t even take you seven minutes. Oh, and you’ll get some Bob Dylan, too, because of course you will.)
Back to the crows.
In the fall, crows arrive like a river in the sky over our little farm and then rain themselves down into our yard. Their mission: pecans.
Over the years several people have insisted there are no pecan trees in our part of Virginia.
Tell that to her.
Maybe that’s what the crows say, too, just to keep the squirrels away. “No pecans here.” Crows are tricksters that way.
Oh look, they missed one.
The Baseball Bloggess 