Monterey

I don't live in Monterey, but a large crow perched in a Monterey Cypress at dusk and the sun set their wing to glowing white. When they turned their head, their beak turned orange; black, orange and white. Nearby, all huge crows landed, one very close to another on the topmost branch, bending the top like a bow. The latecomer tapped their companion on the beak, but was ignored. The sun caught a few feathers, displaying purple, orange in small doses. I almost called someone to tell them about the crow with the white wing who stood for the longest time on a branch. Something called all crows to attention and they took flight; they were all black.