what was the least important part

As I dropped my son off Sunday afternoon the sunset made itself known through rose colored glasses slipped over clouds of this southern end of Orange County. On the corner property of this IKEA wrench shaped suburban tract 40 plus crows picked the lawn looking for bugs.

I stated the obvious: That's a hella lot of crows.
Oh they're here every night.
On this corner?
They love that lawn and this tree.
The crows looked downed from a large maple beyond the stucco border.
The neighbor cleaned his yard last week. You see how it's all dirt in this corner and the plants look nicer; it makes our yard look a little dumpy.
I could hear his step dad's influenced phrasing.
Another wave of crows came from the West heading over the subdivision. Some landed on the lawn as replacements for others. The eucalyptus grove half mile away swayed under the weight of even more.

Over 10 minutes we watched this repeated progression eastward over his step dad's house. I hugged him tightly goodbye at least twice standing out there, among bird voices accumulated over the faint sounds of the TV drifting through the partially opened garage door. I heard my Ex's laugh on the phone or the TV or from somewhere I couldn't quite pin down.

We stood and listened together.
And all I can tell you: Thousands of crows was my answer.

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