The Corvine Ascendancy

 Every morning these days, when I stare blearily out of my bedroom window – which commands a wide view of the trees all around – I see dozens of crows, lined up ominously on every branch, as if auditioning for Hitchcock's The Birds. There is no mistaking the fact that, at least around here, crows are very much in the ascendant, along with their pied brethren the magpies, their spivvy cousins the starlings, and the less obtrusive (so far) jackdaws. Like Kay Ryan, I have a soft spot for crows, but they do seem to be having a depressing effect on the local population of smaller, sweeter-voiced birds. So far this winter in the garden – despite some proper cold snaps – I have seen none of the visitors to the feeders that I've had in previous years here: no greenfinches, chaffinches or even goldfinches, no blackcaps, no siskins. The sparrows and robins are thriving as ever, the tits are at least getting a look in – and of course wood pigeons are still waddling proprietorially around the lawn – but really it does seem to be the case that the more there are of crows, the less there is of anything else. Goldfinches – our 'proud tailors' – used to be everywhere, but I see far fewer these days, and I miss them.
Talking of which, there is a lovely little goldfinch poem by the great Russian poet Osip Mandelstam – 

My goldfinch, I'll toss back my head—

let's look at the world, you and I:

a wintry day, prickly as stubble,

is it just as rough on your eye?

Tail like a boat, black and gold plumage,

dipped in paint from the beak down—

are you aware, my little goldfinch,

what a goldfinch dandy you are?

What air there is on his forehead:

black and red, yellow and white—

he keeps a sharp lookout both ways,
won't look now, he's flown out of sight.