I hated them at first. I've lived in places where birdsong was melodic; a pleasant soundtrack to wake up to. The raspy, terse caws of crows didn't create a sense of calm and admiration that the Maui birds produced.
In Los Angeles I live on the 5th floor with window views that are eye-level to surrounding tree tops. I love trees. So do crows. From their roosts they scream at the sun to rise. (I'm not a natural pre-sunrise waker.) And from their roosts they nag it to set.
I've heard bands or artists on the radio (does that date me?) that I don't like, but if I happen to see them perform live, I have a new appreciation for their sound. Get where I'm going with this?
I endeavored to appreciate them. I rewatched a crow documentary; I read about them; I observed them. I put myself in their claws. I even started talking to them, thanking them for making the sun rise and set another day. During the long days and nights of working at home through the pandemic, the crows were roosting about the same time I'd start slowing down too. We had our routine. One time, in the middle of the night I woke up to sirens and the angry shouts of a man one street over. Ticked off, I went to the window and instead of feeling upset at the loud guy, I felt comforted by the crows, just ten feet from me, shifting on the branches, brushing off the city sound remaining calm and sleepy.
Acting on curiosity instead of critique came in handy. They're beautiful, intelligent creatures. As long as I don't park my car under their roosting trees, we are all good.