The early-morning calm is shattered by a murder of crows

I love crows. They're smart, cocky, beautiful creatures. And when I went out into the yard shortly after 6 a.m. yesterday, I was reminded why a group of crows is aptly known as a murder. More than 50 of the boisterous rascals were flying to and from a nearby tree over and over again, screaming as if they were plotting murder most foul without any regard for maintaining the element of surprise.