The crows are seeking food. The scavenge under the wild bird feeders for spilt seed, and pace the road looking for acorns or anything edible that is not covered by feet of snow. I took some bread and scraps out for them, and called "Here crows," into the icy air. They answered from the east, calling from far off in the woods. By the time I was inside they were here. They land in the snow and sink to mid-wing. They hop, sink, hop, leaving crow prints in the snow. I normally have a flock of seven, but there are visitors today, I counted 9 and there must have been one up acting as look out somewhere. I will find more goodies for them when I go out next. I can't bear the thought of them being hungry!
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