I would turn that thing off and tell whoever is responsible that they don't have your permission for anything! How creepy NAP. :getcoat:
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yeah, it was weird...never seen nor heard anything like it before... :scrhd:
I tried to listen very carefully to see if I could pick up anything but anything I thought I might have heard would be total speculation really...
This is not about electronics. There have been a couple of days recently where hundreds of crows have been passing through and staying around. They like the dogwood berries and the tall trees. They do a lot of talking to each other. I recently heard that a group name for crows and ravens is a 'storytelling'. They seem to do that at times.
The weird thing was I kept thinking I heard human voices, but it was only the crows around.
I've heard the "storytelling" name before but can't find any other reference. Crows are a 'murder' or a 'horde' or a 'muster' or a 'cauldron' or a 'congress', Ravens are an 'unkindness' (also horde, cauldron, congress).
The closest I can find to 'storytelling' are:
squabble of gulls
scold of jays
exaltation of larks
cry of loons
clamour of rooks
quarrel of sparrows
lamentation of swans
chattering of starlings
Edit: I found a reference to a book on hawking and heraldry from 1486 called The Book of St. Albans. In this book one can find the name 'storytelling'.
Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Leaves of Grass. 1900.
Sparkles from The Wheel
WHERE the city’s ceaseless crowd moves on, the live-long day,
Withdrawn, I join a group of children watching—I pause aside with them.
By the curb, toward the edge of the flagging,
A knife-grinder works at his wheel, sharpening a great knife;
Bending over, he carefully holds it to the stone—by foot and knee,
With measur’d tread, he turns rapidly—As he presses with light but firm hand,
Forth issue, then, in copious golden jets,
Sparkles from the wheel.
The scene, and all its belongings—how they seize and affect me!
The sad, sharp-chinn’d old man, with worn clothes, and broad shoulder-band of leather;
Myself, effusing and fluid—a phantom curiously floating—now here absorb’d and arrested;
The group, an unminded point, set in a vast surrounding;
The attentive, quiet children—the loud, proud, restive base of the streets;
The low, hoarse purr of the whirling stone—the light-press’d blade,
Diffusing, dropping, sideways-darting, in tiny showers of gold,
Sparkles from the wheel.
I really think I got zapped this morning. I've had a splitting migraine all day...that is unusual.
Interesting, that could do it...
Damn Russians...no, not this time...I thinks it was 'them' checking on their implants... :)
I'm Jonesin' for this Alabama election to be called.
I think this horse ride is a symbolic representation of how things have gotten out of control for both Moore and his party.
Alabama: either result is bad for the GOP.
...maybe the Trumpster Fire really is playing 4D chess?