At the highest spot of St. James’s church, just above the bell that calls to prayer on Sundays, I often spot a bird. It is never a pigeon, wood-pigeon, dove, or magpie. Or seagull, for that matter. Seagulls sometimes rest on the roof of the church, but they always stick together. On a rare occasion, and only briefly, the bird I spot on high is a sparrow. It checks the view and dives down in haste. A bit more often, but still quite rarely, it is a blackbird. The rest of the time it is a crow. A big, fat crow. No matter how carefully I look, though, I cannot tell whether it is always the same crow, one of a few crows, or any old crow. Curiously enough, I am dying to know, but I know that I never will.

Addendum I (May 26, 2003)

In Greek, kataskopos has a number of meanings. Perhaps the oldest is “looker-down,” a word meant for gods. This comes from kata for “down,” which refers both to space and time, and skopos for “looker” or “watcher.” However, another meaning of the root kata is “intense,” leading to meanings of kataskopos such as “scout” and even “spy.” One way or another, crows looking down from on high must have impressed our ancestors, the wordsmiths of prehistory, as formidable creatures. Their fellow birds seem to concur. And that impresses me, too. Who knows, the crow that has just landed on top of St. James’s may be watching me even as I write.

Addendum II (June 2, 2003)

According to my Greek friends, several of whom responded to my inquiries about the meaning of the word kataskopos, its primary meaning in modern Greek is “spy.” At first I was horrified. Such a beautiful word with such an illustrious origin! But this is not such a bad name for gods, after all. However you turn it, spies they were.