Blindspot

“Did you know crows can carry a grudge for fifteen years?” Tom whispered, lifting his binoculars with a shaky hand.

“I believe it,” Daryl replied, eyes locked on the nest wedged high in the crook of an old oak. “Smart birds.”

“If you save one, though, it’ll never forget. Might even bring you gifts.”

The two men inched closer, boots careful on moss-soft ground. In the branches, the mother owl stiffened, her yellow eyes sharp and unblinking. Three downy owlets peeked from behind her, fragile but alive.

“Think we could get closer without spooking her?” Tom asked.

“Maybe,” Daryl muttered. “Fourth year nesting here. Usually, they’ve gotta fend off hawks.”

Tom nodded. “Peaceful, in its own way.”

“Circle of life,” Daryl murmured.

Above them, a crow cut across the sky—silent, unnoticed.

The men spent the afternoon talking softly about the owls, their voices full of admiration, pointing out every twitch of feathers, every stretch of wings. They thought they were keeping watch. Protecting.

The next morning, they returned, notebooks ready, eager to add another observation to the reporting board.

But the nest was gone.

Not just empty—destroyed. Feathers scattered like ash across the tall grass. Twigs split and snapped. The owlets were nowhere. No mother. No mate. Only silence.

Tom’s breath caught. “No… No, no, no. How—?”

On the ground, he saw them: a pair of glasses, shiny and new. A gift.

Daryl’s face drained of color. His mouth opened, but no sound came. His eyes followed the path of broken twigs to the ground, then up toward the ruined nest.

And then it hit them.

They had left the blind. Walked right up to the tree. Pointed. Talked.

They had shown the crows.

All their care, their gentle steps, their whispered reverence—none of it mattered. The smartest birds in the forest hadn’t needed to search for the nest.

The old men had drawn a map for them. Their reward: glasses to see better next time.

“Circle of life,” Tom echoed, voice hollow now.

But Daryl shook his head, eyes wet with guilt. “No. This is on us—being stupid.”

Above them, a crow’s shadow passed overhead, silent and patient as ever.