The Crow Moon

Tonight is the March full moon, which has many names depending on where in the world you are, but was referred to by some Native American tribes in the North as the Crow Moon. This is because it is the last moon of winter, where then cawing of the crows announces the start of spring and when they might start to build their nests.

On the last Crow Moon, I stepped outside my front door to begin my journey to work when a large crow flew past with a large twig in it’s mouth. They seem to have started on their nests a bit earlier this year where I live, though today you would have barely believed that the seasons were starting to soften.

The Crow Moon is said to be the time for new beginnings, where we cast into the fires that which does not serve us anymore. If I were to do this with everything I feel fits that criteria, it would create an inferno that would make the great fire of London look like an easy bake oven, and probably get my name on Interpol’s database.

So instead, I wrapped up and took myself down to a ferocious sea front with some offerings of grapes and nuts and watched the crows face the relentless western wind like they were in defiance of God himself. When on the ground, they would lie with their bodies as low as they could get them, then spring up to retrieve a snack before diving out the way again. Sometimes the younger ones decide to spend a bit of extra time in the air, getting their thrills by tilting their wings so they get thrown up in the air, and dancing over the gusts rather than fighting them. I can’t decide whether they are the corvid equivalent of surfers or boy racers yet.

Crows know that they don’t have to be be stronger than that which would overwhelm them. Their resilience comes from knowing when to let the storm wash over, when to take cover, and when to puff up your feathers and let it propel you to new places.