Country diary: Sandy, Bedfordshire

Country Diary : Carrion Crow
A carrion crow foraging for food. Photograph: Philip Price/Rex Features

Among the fading colours of an autumn wood, the dark sound of winter came first from somewhere in the trees; raw-throated, devoid of sweetness. In its unadorned simplicity, the echoing call seemed to catch the prevailing mood, lamenting the dying of the year. The crow flew down into a clearing, the weak sunlight unable to draw redeeming glints of blue from its feathers. It swooped down on to a fence post and, as it settled, the bird lifted its wings and tail momentarily, a little wiggle to straighten its skirts.

Some years ago, I carried a piece of fruit on habitual lunchtime walks through this wood. Within a few days, it became the apple of a crow's eye and my hopeful attendant would follow at a nicely judged distance, flapping from tree to tree, alighting on a branch, head cocked in anticipation, waiting for my meal to become his. Every stroll would end with the crow descending to carry away the apple core thrown into the open. With more time and patience, I may have had it eating out of my hand. (Research published this year stated that these birds can identify individual humans by sight, recognising the faces of friend and foe. Crows were able to pass on their assessments to other birds in the vicinity and the knowledge could be retained within the crow community for at least five years.)

Today's crow finished its feather adjustments, then gave me an appraising look. For a few seconds, the perched bird sat still, its big head jutting out and raised slightly. But it had no interest in the empty-handed and dismissed me as irrelevant. It turned its head away, hopped to the ground and began searching around short clumps of heather. Sometimes it raised its head as if coming up for air, ever restless, ever watchful. Caution, curiosity and cleverness would serve this bird well in the winter to come.