Ravens galore

A raven just flew past my window with a chunk of something tasty in its gob, reminding me that this would be a good time to describe the local scene. There are ravens everywhere, every day. Everywhere I go in Hollywood, and everywhere in my own small corner of it. If I’m at home, their rrak-rrak-rrak is never far off. Yesterday there were four at the top of a dead pine on my street at about 6:30 a.m. My guess is they were waiting for a seagull to find some food, and then move in. Only one was vocalizing, and that repeatedly. Last Wednesday (a week ago already) a pair was waiting inside the gate of Runyon to welcome me back there after a few weeks’ absence (I had grown lazy in my constitutional, going for an easy three miles on flat ground, between home and Fairfax). One was only 8 or so feet above ground on a perch, and the other was on the ground, in spite of all the dogs and people, sidling up towards a mess of birdseed that someone had scattered. Only a couple jays and sparrows were enjoying it, but the big black bird was just too cautious to muscle in, and decided to forage instead. Later this pair flew about the mouth of the canyon and around the ridges and back. A couple others were on the heights, and there was an overflight or two.

Thursday morning I had to leave early for work, and was astounded to find a pair right in the street, not far from the curb. They didn’t stay long, and when I reached the spot, there was nothing there (or nothing left). Down at Melrose and Highland I stopped to get gas. Two ravens were marching around on the understructure of a billboard, looking into all the nooks and crannies as if on an easter egg hunt.

Sunday I went down to check on my laundry and heard a quork – when I looked up the sky was full of a raven circus, a cloud of about sixteen, circling around each other and moving slowly in the direction of Lake Hollywood. It was late in the afternoon. A couple others were near to hand and quorking *at* them, trying to warn them off, I suppose. I have come to the conclusion that there is a pair trying to lock down Billy Wilder Square as their own, but have no proof yet. And then there should be a pair that calls Iron Mountain home – perhaps even the same one. There’s enough accessible garbage around here to support a colony of ravens.