A brilliant blue sky arches above the trees. From the doorway of his farmhouse, Sam watches a large flock of black birds land in the field of broken corn stalks. The noise is loud as they search for insects, mice, and other creatures drawn to the cobs left behind after harvest. Quarrels. Disputes. A number of squabbles in bird tongue.

Sam sighs, remembering the dispute his neighbour Gary brought up over property lines last week, his red-faced anger. He thinks about the scene across the road, knowing their gatherings are described as a murder of crows. Breakfast coffee in hand, he considers his list of chores. He needs to feed the chickens, move the sheep to a fresh field, and ready pens in the barn where the horses will stay this winter.

Looking up, he sees a hawk circle the field, two younger versions joining their mother a moment later. Perhaps they’re drawn to that place by the noise? Maybe they’re assessing the food they can gather? Either way, it’s an error in judgment.

A dark swell rises from between the stalks. Crows rarely hesitate to quell intrusions. The hawks have little chance surrounded by the aggressive black mob. They’re far outnumbered. The adult manages its escape, but the young ones’ inexperience leads to their downfall. Mother hawk watches from a tree on the edge of the field. Her young have fallen among broken stalks of corn.

The cacophony from the dark lords of the field rises in volume. Quarrels. Disputes. Serious clashes in bird tongue. It isn’t only humans who have trouble living with others, he muses.

Sam decides to have the property line surveyed rather than spending angry words.