The noisy crow burst from the canopy to chase the trespasser. They swooped over the intersection where I stood gawking, and then over the rooftops, all the while the crow dive-bombing the hawk's wing tip, the hawk unable to maneuver out of reach, until both shrank to dots in the distance and the cacophony faded. In the meantime three other crows, in response to the distress signal, had rushed to the original invasion site above my head, and settled down to guard it. I scanned the sky to spot the lead raven as it returned over the rooftops. It glided in to join the other rescuers, but as soon as it landed, the foliage absorbed all four of them. When the skirmish ended, old tensions eased from my muscles.
Ten thousand things had been screaming for my attention. Immigrants drowned at sea, black boys murdered, dogs abused, young girls stolen en masse, families buried in volcano eruption. The news sickened me and gave me nightmares, but the sky delivered a reminder. The ten thousand things are no more important than the crows who saved their nest today.