I didn't really notice the crow until it flew over the second time.
The coven had gathered for New Moon in the park, not so much for ritual as for the reassuring pleasure of one another's company. As covens go, we're a close one—that happens, after 40 years together—and it was good to be able to catch up and sing together again. Whatever pleasures social distancing may take away, you don't have to be close at hand to sing.
That's when the crow flew over for the first time.
Now, in a park in April it's not unusual for birds to fly overhead. But when it flew over again in the opposite direction shortly thereafter, you could see ears pricking up. This is, after all, a group of witches. Like other predators, witches are hyper-aware of surroundings and, of course, an omen is an omen.
Then it came back again.
In folk prognostication, crows are generally accounted bad omens—often omens of death—but crows and witches share certain affinities, and besides: this crow was on a special mission.
We watched it alight high in a budding maple tree. After a brief struggle, it flew back overhead, twig in beak.
Well, there's your answer. Whatever else it may be, a crow building a nest is no omen of death.
We discuss the advantages of building your nest with fresh, supple twigs. (All the better to weave you with, my dear.) We watch to see where it's nesting. (We can't tell, though it's clearly—here's an omen for you—in the pagan neighborhood.) We laugh, and sing another May song.
Chances are that, back when we still lived in trees, like our cousins the gorillas, we humans built nests there for sleeping. When we came down from the trees and moved out onto the savannahs, we kept building nests for ourselves, though tipped up onto their sides: twig bothies offer something in the way of privacy, shelter from the wind, and protection from lions. (Lions, being—after all—cats, prefer to sneak up on their prey from behind.)
Back in the old days, just before May Eve, the young bucks would spend time in the woods building May bowers. That way, you'd have someplace (relatively) private to bring your sweetheart back to after the bonfire revels.
