The Angel of the Crows

by Katherine Addison

“We sing to each other,” Crow said simply. “Always.” “As birds do?” I said doubtfully, trying to imagine the dignified angels of St. Bartholomew’s and St. Paul’s squawking at each other like parrots. “Birds aren’t actually an awfully good analogy. You’d do better to think of us as bees.” “Bees?” said I, taken aback. “Well, we’ve too many limbs to be mammals,” he said reasonably. “And our social structure is much better represented by a hive than by a warren—or even by a rookery. And bees do sing, in a way.” “I suppose so,” I said feebly and spent the rest of the evening trying very hard not to think of Crow as a bee.