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"Leaves of Crows," was composed by Malcolm Dalglish. Malcolm played hammer dulcimer and pan pipe and sang with fellow singers: Lucia and Maria Walker, Grace Minnick and Brian Kress. The song was recorded and mixed by Chip Reardin and Malcolm Dalglish. Painting was done by Mark Blaney.
This photo and recording of crows happened in the Y woods south of town. I love the way crows in winter pull your eyes and ears upward from city streets to a raucous and wild drama…a community of extended large families in flocks with vast and varied sounds. I never felt the omens of death and evil that have been associated with these wondrous congregations. Moreover, I feel the presence of a chaotic cacophony full of many emotions swirling above me. I’m guessing joy is among them. Joy is what I feel…a rich and ancient vintage.
Malcolm Dalglish
Singer, composer, hammer dulcimer player, and multi-instrumentalist
Maria and Lucia Walker
Singers, thespians, and Oolites
Grace Minnick
Singer and Oolite
Brian Kress
Singer, actore and Oolite
Squall of crows above my street, There in throws of joy we meet. Tufted hollow wings, hollow wings of night, Capture golden beams of light, Of light.
The barren twigs in tops of trees, Sift the howl of winter breeze. Throated reeds of wind, reeds of wind chill breath, Hunger calls for what is left, What is left.
The barren twigs in tops of trees, Sift the howl of winter breeze. Throated reeds of wind, reeds of wind chill breath, Hunger calls for what is left, What is left.
Sky glows, wind blows, close of day, The crow goes caw, caw, caw… Soulful, soaring, calling, Crow throng song, caw calling, cacophony, symphony.
The only leaves that winter knows, in tops of trees are leaves of crows. Above my street, the wind blows Cacophony of leaving crows, Here we meet without woes, The boundless joy of evening crows. The only leaves that winter knows, in tops of trees are leaves of crows.
-Malcolm Dalglish
The only leaves that winter knows, in tops of trees are leaves of crows. Above my street, the wind blows Cacophony of leaving crows, Here we meet without woes, The boundless joy of evening crows. The only leaves that winter knows, in tops of trees are leaves of crows.
-Malcolm Dalglish
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