Some advice sounds very wise until you see who is giving it.
The left scarecrow lowered his voice. Every crow on the fence leaned closer.
“We have a security problem.”
The right scarecrow looked at the fence. A black beak disappeared briefly beneath a wing.
“Yes,” he said. “I can see it.”
“We need expert advice.”
The beak reappeared.
A Larger Hat
Morning warmth had begun to reach the rice. Heavy golden heads brushed the scarecrows’ trousers, and the breeze carried the dry, dusty smell of straw beneath their collars. Neither had moved from his stake since April. The left one’s coat had, however, lost two buttons and most of an elbow.
“A commanding presence,” he said, lifting his remaining elbow. “That’s what we’re missing.”
“Your hat’s folded at the back,” said the right scarecrow.
“Precisely. It should be larger.”
“I meant—”
“Excellent suggestion.”
The crow on the highest post nodded. “A wide brim. Very important.”
The left scarecrow turned toward him.
“You understand these things?”
“I’ve seen a great many scarecrows.”
This was difficult to dispute.
With some assistance, the folded brim was spread outward. Straw scratched against straw. A thread snapped. The right scarecrow held the edge while his colleague pushed the crown into what he considered a more authoritative shape.
Below them, the hat’s shadow widened across the rice.
Two crows hopped down from the fence.
Field Experience
“Better,” said the crow on the post.
The left scarecrow tried a stern expression. His stitched mouth made limited adjustments.
“And we should change positions each morning.”
The right scarecrow glanced at the stake running through his trousers.
“Perhaps every Tuesday,” the left one added.
A choking sound travelled along the fence. One crow opened both wings; another gripped the rail until the shaking stopped.
“They’re nervous,” the left scarecrow whispered.
His colleague watched a third bird drop into the rice. The stalks stirred beneath the widened brim. A soft crack came from somewhere near their feet.
“We could ask the farmer about bells,” he said.
“Unnecessary noise,” said the crow above them. “A quiet field is far more dignified.”
The left scarecrow nodded. “I was thinking exactly that.”
The right one looked down again.
“What?” asked his colleague.
“Come a little this way. Just your head.”
Beneath the Brim
The left scarecrow leaned as far as his stake allowed. His hat brushed the other one’s shoulder.
Under its broad shadow, a crow stood on a bent rice stalk with a grain between his beak. Another was already choosing the next head.
The first swallowed.
“Much cooler,” he said.
Above them, the expert inspected a feather.
The left scarecrow stayed bent for a moment. Then he straightened and reached for his brim.
“Could you fold it back?”
His colleague did. He tucked the broken thread beneath the band and pressed the crown into place without mentioning its authority.
“You were saying something about bells?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
One More Recommendation
By afternoon, the farmer found both scarecrows facing the path. One sleeve flapped toward the fence; the other pointed to the grain husks beneath their stakes.
The crows watched from the rail, rounder than they had been that morning.
“Before you make any changes,” called their expert, “we recommend another meeting.”
The left scarecrow looked toward his colleague first.
“Tomorrow?”
“After the farmer’s been.”
The expert stopped arranging his feathers.
“We may be unavailable.”
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