A Murder of Crows… and My Coffee Cake Confession

Over the past few days, I’ve been deeply committed to the noble art of doing absolutely nothing.

Sure, I’ve done a few small chores here and there and convinced myself that “researching” and “writing” while eating pastry counts as productivity. Most would say I’m putting the tire part of retired around my waist.

My diet has mostly consisted of coffee cake, cider donuts and strawberry rhubarb pie, which, for the record, pairs beautifully with procrastination.

Then, just before dinner tonight, the universe intervened.

We heard an awful racket out back, crows circling overhead, cawing loud enough to wake the ancestors. It was a full-on murder in the sky.

Across cultures, crows have been seen as omens, messengers, even divine symbols of transformation. The Irish linked them to gods of war and prophecy. Native American traditions often saw them as messengers between worlds.

Me? I’m taking it as a divine intervention on behalf of my waistband which is nothing to crow about…..

Clearly, these crows were sent as celestial personal Marine Corps DI’s, screaming from the heavens,

“CLOSE YOUR PIE HOLE, AND GIVE US 20, BIG BOY!”

So, I’m choosing to see this mobbing not as an omen of doom, but as a “wake-up caw” from the universe. Time to move, stretch, maybe even eat a vegetable like Caw-liflower that didn’t come out of a bakery box.

Still finishing the last half of the rhubarb pie though.
Wouldn’t want to waste it. 🥧