A love letter to autumn
by Steve Xoh

I like Autumn. I can easily find a downside to every season but I seem to have less bones to pick with this one than the others. Whilst the warmth of summer means that I don’t have to think too much about what clothes to wear, it also amplifies human behaviours that I find challenging. More people gather in places I use as a quiet retreat for the rest of the year (the riverside, a park, a beach), neighbours have noisy garden/balcony/window-sill parties and unpredictable summer crowds mess up my usual strategies to travel at a quieter time. So when autumn arrives it feels like a welcome relief and a return to some sort of soothing, routine normality for me. A nice balance between temperature and busyness that summer always seems to lose control of.

But the thing that brought me most joy this autumn was the return of “Crow”. Crow is a crow that I met and befriended by the riverside in the autumn of 2024. I’d spotted her and her partner (who I named “Lightning” due to a white streak on his chest) hanging around on my walks to and from the studio. One day, I brought a handful of monkey nuts along to feed them (nuts are a treasure in the corvid world) and after I did the pair started to follow me each time I walked past. Over the next couple of months I experimented with befriending them and seeing how physically close our interactions could get. Whilst Lightning remained cautious, Crow started to come closer and closer each day. It felt like with each interaction we established a deeper level of trust. It started with her cautiously approaching me to get a nut from the wall I was sitting on, then taking one from my outstretched hand and then eventually jumping onto my knee to eat from my palm.

I became so enchanted by this relationship with Crow that I started to dislike it when things, such as paid work, meant I missed a chance to spend time with her. I find relationships with creatures much easier to navigate than those with humans. There is a liberating absence of human complications such as projections, transferences, use of language, bias and filters (mine included) which means that I never feel misunderstood by an animal. I found it easy to be patient and passionately non-attached about spending time with Crow and if she didn’t show up or didn’t want to sit on my lap I didn’t take it personally. But each time mine and Crow’s relationship did evolve it felt like unlocking another level of a computer game. I was utterly elated on the day that she came up to me and did a little bow, opening her wings slightly, whilst making a noise I hadn’t heard her make before - a gesture that I later learnt is a call of affection to a fellow crow. I was so fascinated by the ease and joy I felt in this relationship that I painted a picture about it called “Crow Therapy” which was exhibited (and sold) at the Feelings are Real exhibition that jdwoof and I did at Barbican in earlier this year. (You can buy a limited print of the painting here.)

However, in the spring of 2025 Crow and Lightning disappeared. They had spent a month or so up in their nest, warming and protecting their egg and then, after their hatchling was born, they just left. I felt sad, but it felt like a different kind of sadness to one I would feel about a human suddenly leaving. A melancholic fondness for the memories of our time together, combined with a total understanding that this is just what crows do at this stage of their life.

So, it was a real surprise when walking to the studio in late October when I heard a loud cawwing and looked round to see Crow and Lightning were back. I wasn’t entirely sure if it was them but when I sat down and the smaller, female crow hopped straight onto my lap I knew it was her. What made this reunion extra meaningful was that they brought their fledgling with them. A beautiful but slightly uncoordinated and goofy little crow, that I have named Humphrey Brand, who is gradually working out who I am based on watching its parents interact with me. I am hoping Humphrey will follow in its mother’s footsteps and one day hop onto my lap to eat.

I’m assuming that all of this is typical crow behaviour - their fledgling is old enough to come out of the nest, the start of autumn is time for foraging/ caching winter food and I am a good source of monkey nuts. But part of me also likes to imagine that my crow friends have been longing to come back to see me and share in our mutual appreciation of the quietening and calming nature of autumn by the riverside.