Goodnight Crow

I drove home each night from work now at dusk,
and my route passes under two separate crow
flight paths, as the corvids return from their daily
forays into the world and come back to their nightly
roosts. Tonight Paul was driving me home, so I could
gawk to my heart's content -- one long line of crows
stretched above Lake Washington as far as I could see
in a north-to-south haphazard line. I'm guessing they roost
somewhere in Renton, as I've observed their path from the
opposite direction numerous times. The other roostage
I drive directly through, at the intersection of I-90 and I-405,
thousands of crows in treetops, settling for sleep.
Recently I discovered that if I sit on the living room
sofa at dusk and look out the triangular-shaped window
on the south wall of the house, crows pass over my house
one after another after another: I live under a flight path.
This is a delight, because as the days allow a bit more light
to eke in, minute by minute, it won't be long until my evening
commute is once again in full sun (or full cloud, as it may be),
and I'll be hours early for the daily crow commute. Instead,
I can grab that glass of Nero d'Avola, settle into some
immensely cozy cushions, and watch it all from the comfort
of chez moi.