A murder of crows is a group of three or more. What happens in Springfield every year has no problem flying past that threshold. One … five … nine … 100 … 130 … I was stuck in a parking lot on Upper Valley Road on the west side of Springfield.
Well, not really stuck — because I chose to be there — and the car was running fine. But I was waiting in the parking lot as the sun was just beginning to fade and one group of five or six crows passed by. Then another and another. It went on like that in a steady stream for more than 30 minutes and was still going when I left.
They didn’t pass over in organized flocks like geese in a V formation. Or fly in tight clusters like pigeons. Or giant murmurations like starlings, although the numbers could support it. And they were all headed to the same place - to roost in downtown Springfield for the night.
Read the complete column here: Counting Crows
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