More than Favorite

Mama J you're all done sittin' on those eggs, aren't you. I saw you this morning, stretching your wings, down for a snack. You had baby poop on your face and my heart just about burst.

Last year was hard, wasn't it, Mama. Lots of sick babies. A corpse you had to boot out of the nest. And then there was Bartt...

It's hard to talk about him. We loved him so much.

Maybe this year will be easier. Biggie is older, now. A better helper. And it rained a lot this spring. The worms are fat and the bugs are big. Good grub for making babies grow.

Junior. Mama. I'm always telling people how you're my favorite. I not sure they know what that means. Maybe favorite is the wrong word. Favorite is like ice cream flavor. Like movie. Like pair of socks. Like song. Favorite is that really extra super good thing that makes you squirm with delight and jump up and down and say things like Yay! and Mmmmm and The Best, but favorite is just special you can probably live without. You're much more than favorite, Junior. I guess I could probably live without you, but after knowing you, it wouldn't feel much like living.

Junior. Beautiful Junior. My soul crow. I miss you when I go away. And the way you shout when you spot me upon my return, swooping at breakneck speeds from the highest branches to land, light as a feather, at my feet, and gaze up into my eyes, I know you miss me, too.

In your own crow way.

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Junior on the nest.