clockwork murder in the orange hour...

i need to sign up for some sort of non-dating service where you can meet people in your area who possess very specific knowledge and interests. in my case, i am in need of someone who either knows way too much about the habits of Montreal crows... or, who is willing to be my designated driver for a couple hours a day, while i hang out a car window, trying to track them in flight. 

but, before all of that... i made the mistake of hoping that it would be a sunny day, until the animator opened the curtains. 

me: why is it so... gray?

him: it's not that bad.

then he leaned forward to look at something down at street level, made a noise, then instantly assumed the universally-understood tone of voice that is reserved expressly for delivering bad news.

him: you know that orange work sign across the street?

me: uhm... yeh...?

him: well... the orange is gray. 

then i sighed and pulled the covers back over my head. 

why are we even talking about this, you ask? because i can talk about whatever the hell i want, for a start. but, mostly, because i found myself sat cross-legged, staring at the sky today, wondering if "it" was going to happen. 

twice a day, weather permitting, the sun reaches the perfect elevation in the sky to send all of its lovely rays streaming (horizontally) through our place. we call it "the orange hour". the sunrise orange hour is usually the more subtle of the two, as there are only a couple windows on that side of the building. 

the sunset orange hour, however, is a thing of indescribable beauty. the SW wall is more glass than bricks, and the whole place just glows. the color is amplified by the terracotta colored walls in the living and dining rooms. it is like sitting cross-legged on a sofa... inside of an active volcano. 

the "hour" lasts only a few minutes in the Winter, but we get Snyder Cut orange hours come Summer. and this happens twice every single day. 

there is also the other thing that happens twice every single day. right after the sun rises and again before it sets, the skies over Montreal become some sort of HOV lane for a large murder of crows. twice every single day, like clockwork, they head SW in the morning, and they take the return flight back, just as the sun threatens to set. 

i just really want to know where they are going, and i might even have to risk making a new friend if that will finally bring me some answers. 

so, there i was this afternoon, sipping my hot beverage and catching up with Norbert. (s)he had stopped by for a snack of stale tortilla chips and puddles of melted ice water. i kept glancing up from my screen, hopeful that the depressingly-overcast clouds would part just long enough for me to (literally) bask in the glow of sunset. 

however, it is still a cold, damp, gray Winter day here in Metropolis North, so i had to settle for clockwork murder in the orange hour... and, of course, the orange was gray. le sigh!

Norbert took off when the evening commute started, lest the crows get any funny ideas. so, i just carried on sipping my beverage, and enjoying the antics of the passing forms. they do not exactly fill the whole sky, but there is a steady ribbon of crows that follow the same path always, and it goes on for anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour... or more. and this happens twice every single day, unless we are experiencing a storm of some type. 

there are always a few stragglers, flapping extra hard to catch up with the rest of the murder. 

in the Summer, the shapes of crows would be displaced by silhouettes of bats heading out for an evening hunt... which is usually my signal to go inside. maybe i need to make two friends with special interests, because i also really need to know where those bats hang out all day.