February 24th, 2008


The Triumph of Modernism

The storm here has been pathetic, all sad and sodden and weak. After such great expectations, it has come to so little that it barely deserves consideration as a storm at all. A mere depression is all it seems. But it appears that places north and south have been provided with much more rain, while here we got no more than a few drizzles, a persistent dampness, and some intermittent winds.

The most dramatic event of the day was not the weather but the arrival of a large murder of crows—upward of seventy that I counted, and many more that were out of sight in neighboring yards. Several dozen made a solemn promenade down the wet street, while others strode about the lawn pecking here and there. They all looked terribly dignified, as though they were attending a funeral. I didn't go out and disturb them, but watched through the windows until they finally departed, one by one. The most remarkable thing about the whole event was that these normally raucous birds barely uttered a caw the whole fifteen or twenty minutes they were here. In fact, had I not been looking out the window when they arrived, I probably would have missed the whole thing.

True Conservatism's last, best hope, gone!

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