CrowYou notice everything. The shift in the room before anyone speaks. The thing behind the thing. What's being said with silence. Others call it intuition you know it's something older than that. Something you were born with and never tried to explain. Crows remember faces. They leave gifts. They mourn their dead. They are, by every measure, more present than most. And so are you. You don't miss much. You don't forget much either. Three crows take flight