Why does the crow still caw?

The rains have dried,
I open my eyes,
To a sky celebrating evening.
The earth has absorbed the giving life of water.
It is relieved.
The once crumbling soil is scented with the smell of growth.
The sloping moors, the open fields, the memory of home.
A light breeze blows, kissing the leaves on the trees.
Embracing the heaviness of silence, carrying it away.
Leaving nothing but a quiet smile in its wake.
Footsteps echo in the fullness of emptiness.
Small evening birdsong whispers as it is dimly registered, Becoming a serenade of warmth as hearing fades to listening.
Sadness is surrendered, Peace is remembered.
A shadow is lifted, minds are clear.
As the footsteps pass by the silent bell tower, a new sound is heard behind.
Above the sleepy song, a brother calls,
Loud clear, relentless.
The thunder is silent, nature is pure,
Tell me, why does the crow still cawʚ?