First the nitpicky bits: an editor should have picked up on the fact that Haupt calls crane flies 'cane flies' throughout. And there was one wincing 'tales' for tails. This isn't really a book about crows at all. It's a memoir, a book about Haupt being alert to her surroundings, a book about waking from depression. I wanted to read about crows, so my impressions of this book are colored by my disappointment in finding a philosophical treatise in place of a natural history of a species. Not that there aren't crows on every page, just that they are all anecdotal crows. The entire book is anecdotal.There were lovely passages, and interesting insights. There were knee-jerk reactions disguised as philosophy (one can, in fact, feed backyard birds responsibly and well). There were judgments and quirks and digressions. It was interesting but not compelling to me - it took me almost 3 months to finish as I kept putting it down and picking something else up. Two stars- it was okay. Not bad, but not something I'll re-read.