the unkindness of ravens

They have taken up roost in the trees around my porch and call insults to one another. At least that's what it sounds like to me. It could very well be something else entirely:

"Hey - good move on that landing, buddy! Your tail feathers look good in that configuration."

"And you!!! The way you found that bug was nothing short of amazing. I can't believe you shared. Ravey, you rock!"

"Guys? Let's not forget old Sage over here. He's the one who's been finding the best conference roost trees since before we were hatchlings. I say Caw! Caw! Cawraw to him!

I wonder why we have 'murders' of crows and an 'unkindness' of ravens?

There are more questions today than answers. Why can't I soar above and get a raven's-eye-view over where I've been and write about it? I don't know. But I finally gave up, for now, anyway. We're back on the ground, digging in the dirt, looking for edible bugs. Once I get the last chapter at least drafted, I hope I'll be able to see just where it is I've been.

In the meantime, I'm trying to take all of Magda's comments as kindnesses, no matter what it sounds like. It's a postmodern thing, I know, but for today I chose to make my own meaning. Whatever works for me. . . . after all. Here's hoping that it does work!

In the meantime, a sketch from yesterday. The ants have just about emptied the hummer feeder. And I'm off to get a big gulp of whatever it is I can find to carry back to the dissertation today. I'll drop it there, and go back for more. I've got one month and 4 days. The countdown to hell is about to start. Actually, I think it just started. . . .