We're packed for the coast and will depart mid-morning. I wanted to get my writing done along with some brisk walking and allow my wife to take her time getting ready.

Walking to coffee today, writing in my head, thinking about a short story, creating scenes and reflecting how Dolores Cullen is right, it's hard to catch the vibrancy you find in your head in actual words on screen or paper. Least it is for me. I think of them, get excited, sit down to write them up...where have they gone? They've flown the coop.

As I stride along Siskiyou, I see a crow land up on the other side of the street about three hundred yards away. Crows are numerous here. I often have an exchange with a crow while walking. They land in a tree and shout, "Good morning," and I call back, "Good morning, how are you?"  They yell back but I don't understand them. My crow is very limited.

The crow that landed, though, set out across the street using the crosswalk. I wondered if he was walking out to inspect something. I thought he would veer back or take flight so I watched. But he crossed all the lanes via the crosswalk. Once he reached the other side, he flapped into flight. What was going through his head?

Then, sitting down here with coffee, firing up the computer, I look out the window. A crow is strutting up the sidewalk along the coffee shop, a beat cop on patrol. Could it be the same crow or is this a new crow thing? Maybe these are extreme crows. Maybe there's a crow sect that believe they're destined to be more human and they exercise belief by walking as humans walk, where humans walk. Reaching the end of the building, he set off in flight. 

The walking crow. That's a good pub name.

The Walking Crow. Let's go have a pint.