Yesterday I noticed some interesting behaviour on the part of the local tribe of ravens.
Overnight one of their number had apparently been killed after sitting on the power box that controls a conjunction of power lines over the laneway near our house. There it was, a tatter of glossy black feathers on the ground at the foot of the power pole – one defunct raven.
Later in the morning I heard a commotion of ravens in the street. There were a number of them sitting in the plane trees close to the scene of the tragedy calling to each other, back and forth.
I wondered, as I observed their behaviour, if they were discussing the death of their companion. It certainly looked and sounded as if they were.