The Professor & The Crow

The Professor sat in the early morning light on the common bench, a shaft of sun had struck him full in his face and he had closed his eyes and softly exhaled into the warmth. He was dreaming. It was a cold morning, Mary was off the lead, had seen a squirrel, had gone of dashing off into the shrubs rustling and snuffling with excitement and interest. He would just wait for her here, in this warm, sunny corner, an old man – dozing on his stick.

He had got up at first light, washed and shaved, pressed his trousers and shirt, two pairs of socks these days, two jersies, a cup of tea, an egg, toast and marmalade. Mary had a bowl full of biscuits and then off up to the common, their morning ritual. Barely 7.30, he was one of the first out. It was early Spring and clear. He could hear a waning chorus of birds that had dwindled to an alto section of crows cawing to each other from the treetops. He felt exhausted. Life’s catching up with me, he thought. He’d sat down rather than his usual exercise of swinging his arms about, swivelling and touching his toes. After the steady incline of the hill he was only now breathing regularly, ignoring the familiar sun-tipped view of the whole city stretching out before him, the warm sunshine on his ancient brow.

His thoughts were interrupted. A shadow flitted across his face – and he heard a caw quite close above his head. Crows. Mary would see it and soon come running over yap-yapping. Again it flitted and called. It must be circling. Perhaps it thinks I’m some kind of carrion? Not far off, he admitted and he gave a nonchalant shrug just to affirm to the crow and to his shoulders that he wasn’t quite dead yet. He wondered if he should open his eyes, but the sun was getting stronger and warmer and to break this happy doze would be a shame. He could sense the sun brightly burning off the chilly whisps of cloud breaking the sky into a bright – Whumpf! Something heavy hit him on the crown of his head knocking his hat off. The force of it sending his head rolling slightly forwards out of the sunlight. He opened his eyes, expecting the counter motion to send him back again, but the heaviness did not lift, rather it remained and juddered causing more shadows and a rush of air. The Professor could feel cold rubbery points on his crown. A single black feather floated down past his nose and settled on his knee.

With his head bent under the unshifting weight the Professor could see his shadow in the sun to the right of him, awkwardly crooked under the form of a rather large crow. An alarmingly close caw confirmed this and the Professor feeling the five or six points on his head – were they talons? – looked at the shadow of the curved beak and wondered what to do.