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Kathleen Aponick Omen
Omen
kathleen aponick —before the Pandemic of 2020
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They appeared mid-winter— a congregation of crows by the river, thousands alighting in the trees— a murmuration some call it.
We were caught up in the spectacle— birds coming from every direction, cawing, flapping, leaping-frogging among the trees the way they do.
Standing on the snowy riverbanks of Lawrence we were like figures in a painting by Breughel, entranced captives looking up into the trees.
We noticed some birds seemed related, like members of a human tribe. At times, these separate flocks flew off returning later to the chattering mass.
Were they looking for new roosting sites, coming back knowing there is safety-in-numbers? But wasn’t there danger, too, imminent if an enemy infiltrated?
Snow light dimmed, it was getting late. I felt a chill settle in as we began to leave, changed in ways still hard to describe, as if we’d already entered an altered world.
