She said, “You know what that means, don’t you?”
I said, “Yes. It means there was a crow on your windowsill.”
“No. It means I’m going to die or something really bad is going to happen.”
Laughter on my end of the phone.
“I’m glad you find this funny,” she said.
Now the crow has been hanging around her place, not a good omen for someone who believes in omens.
Crows are smart birds. If you threaten them, they will remember your face and tell all of their crow buddies about you. They memorize the route of garbage trucks so they know when and where to find food. This ability earned them a bad reputation during medieval battles as a murder of crows followed the foot soldiers across the battle field. Perhaps this is why they’re called a “murder of crows,” not a group, not a flock, but a murder.
Crows soon figured out that the marching soldiers would ultimately bring bloodshed. And to a crow that means dinner. So of course they followed the soldiers, who then began to see the presence of crows as a bad omen. They were harbingers, foreshadowing the evil that would soon fall upon them. Once the battle was over, the crows would swoop in and feast upon the dead, adding to their sinister image.
I called NC and got her voicemail. I cawed a couple of times and hung up. She didn’t think it was funny. But don’t worry, she’s going to be fine. She bought some sage and burned it in her living room to ward of the evil. That should do the trick.