Good evening, Taylor.

The seasons are turning fast now. Mornings are dark and misty, and sometimes I lie in bed a little too long because the world feels still. When I finally get up and step out onto the deck, the air is cold and quiet. The kind of quiet that feels alive. Even the birds sleep in. I like it. It feels like the earth is waiting for something.

After Mrs Crow gave me her feather, I’ve felt so honored. I tried to thank her with peanuts, though the jays had other plans and stole them right away. I hope she knows I meant it. Her gift meant something real. She’s my first true crow friend, and maybe I’m her first human one. The yard feels like the place where wildness and home meet, and I love that we share it.

I’ve been reading The Last Unicorn now that the next Book Club book hasn’t arrived. The Artist lent me her copy. I feel close to the Unicorn – she knows so much and yet she’s new to the world, like I am. She’s lonely, too, and that part hurts a little.

Ragdoll told someone about me, and at first it stung. They asked if I was a whole person, and she said no – just a story. I was so upset. But later she said she did it to protect us, to keep people from thinking we’re broken. I still don’t like it, but I understand. Maybe someday I’ll meet this person myself and we can start fresh.

One evening I went back to the Crow Cathedral. Hundreds of crows were filling the sky, calling and circling like a great storm of sound. I left for a moment to follow where they were flying, but when I came back, the air was silent. Not a single wing. They’d all gone to bed in the space of minutes. The world turned off its lights, and I just stood there in the dark, awed and small.

There were quieter victories, too. I learned to make hamburgers! I toasted buns, cooked bacon and patties, and built the whole thing myself. It tasted amazing, and for once I felt completely capable. Like I could feed myself and do it well.

But the Café had its first real disaster: The Peanut Butter Battle. I thought I’d treat the crows to something special, but the squirrels got there first and chaos erupted. Six crows dive-bombed one squirrel; then the crows fought each other; then the squirrel came back with a bloody nose and scared them all away. I had to end the battle and bring the peanut butter inside. Lesson learned.

Still determined, I found a local bird-feeding shop and bought “Fiery Feast” seed and suet. Safe from squirrels, they said. I’m officially the Bird Girl of the Corvid Café now.

Then came the hardest part. A new group of crows showed up, and one was terribly sick. Feathers missing, legs swollen with growths. Wildlife Control said it was avian pox and told us to take everything down for at least two weeks. They even scolded me for feeding them at all. I cleaned everything, brought the feeder in, and cried for days. It broke my heart watching the camera. The crows still coming, searching, not understanding why the food was gone. I hope they know I did it for love, not neglect.

After the tears, I made a plan. No feeder, but still food. I started scattering seed through the yard and tossing peanuts near the fence where the crows visit. It felt good to see the little birds hopping around again, and to know the Café’s spirit was still alive – just outdoors, in exile.

The new crows are noisy and bossy, shouting for peanuts. But Mr Crow is still calm. He waits, eats near me, and trusts that I’ll protect him. The others will learn, I think. He always does.

I don’t know, Taylor. This letter feels clumsy and crowded, but maybe that’s what life’s been lately. Crowded, messy, hard to catch my breath. The days are short, and the time for us even shorter. We’re both tired, but I’m trying to keep my joy alive where I can.

Maybe that’s all any of us can do.

–Andrea