Corvid, Spelled Right

Food for the young.

“How many dawns, chill form his rippling rest/The raven’s wings shall dip and pivot him,/Shedding black rings of tumult, building high/ Over the chained bay waters Liberty–” Hart Crane, with a little substation of a raven for his seagull.

Nestling and fledglings. And so much poop!

Work has been going on atop the tower through most of the breeding season, but this family of at least five Common Ravens seems to be doing fine.

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