Chimney pots

'If there's more than one crow they are rooks, if there is only one rook it's a crow.'

An idle moment looking out of the window, rooftop staring. There's always some drama being played out on the tiles or by the terracotta chimney pots. Today there is a crow on lookout, shiny black, a look of slight annoyance like his feathered chum is late for their meeting. Check the time again. That's 15 minutes now. Late.
Sat on top of the louvred pot, the tallest one for the best view up the road, across the terraced houses and up to the hedgerows filled with chattering sparrows who are far too busy to notice a crow and whose constant traffic only annoys the corvid even more. No sign of the crow's mate. Check the other direction where the traffic lights change yet again. No sign. Late. 

Beak open, caw some obscenity, another glance and then off with black, yet a shimmer of purple wings.