Martha Catherine Ivey
sentinels
One crow for sorrow, two crows for mirth,
Three for a wedding, four for a birth,
Five crows for silver, six crows for gold,
Seven for a secret not to be told.
Eight crows for heaven, nine crows for hell,
And ten for the devil’s own wicked sel’.
Nobody knows the origins of that old time-honored rhyme, but it’s still repeated in some parts of the world. In those lands it’s not uncommon for a person traveling alone on some unfrequented road or pathway to politely greet a single crow, as tradition demands, in order to ward off the sorrow. Whether you believe in the augury of crows, or whether you dismiss it as the sort of nonsense passed on by uneducated crones wearing shawls and smelling of onions, it does no harm to follow the old ways. You’re all alone; there’s nobody to hear you greet the crow—nobody but the crow himself. And he’s not talking.
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