I looked up to the utility wires. A murder of crows was crying, barking, and flapping their wings wildly.
Soon the crows moved closer to the fallen crow, trying to revive him, perhaps performing some corvid magic.
Once they discovered that their brother was dead, their mood grew heavy and cold. They huddled together in mourning, forming a dark shroud over the body.
I, too, bowed my head in respect.
It was as if a friend had died.