momentaria

Driving across the Curragh of Kildare through a soft November dusk.

The world is atmospherically sepia grey like an old photograph.

Topping the rise I come upon an unusual sight.

Crows are swirling above the plain on the spokes of a great invisible wheel in the sky.

Yet more crows are perched densely on telephone wires below them.

Still more and far more numerously than in the air or on the wires, several acres of the Curragh plain are carpeted on the ground with myriads of the creatures.

I slow my car and look as closely as I can.

For the most part they are not foraging although I espy a few poking in the earth for worms.

Most of the ones on the ground seem to be in little groups of three, four and five, with those in each group facing in towards each other as though in conference.

They are quite motionless.

Their demeanour reminds me of politicians in coat and tails gathering before a vote and discreetly discussing last minute concerns.

Their folded wings are reminiscent of hands clasped behind a gentleman's back.

So this is a parliament of crows.

Such a gathering has latterly been referred to in the English language as a murder of crows.

Parliament is a much better word.

I wonder what they were talking about.