Crows in the Morning

A familiar country, albeit one I have never seen. Crows cry in early morning, and the air is wet with mist, woods full of too many trees. Churches are harsh and documentary-real. A school room I could almost be nostalgic for and the imagined darkness of the trees.
I'm not sure why the landscape in the old (1970) British horror film  Blood on Satan's Claw (which I've just finished watching)  is so familiar. There has always been something so familiar about the sounds of crows in the early morning, and the film soundtrack is littered with them. I remember once, back in Forres, my sister and myself frightened by the sound of them in the Black Woods on top of Cluny Hill, and again, my room in Drumduan Park, and through those dark-less midsummer nights, my sleep disturbed by crows in the garden... there is another memory of something earlier, living at my grandparents house in Stone in 1977. Arriving at school early in the morning, and was there this one morning, misty and wet, riven by the sound of crows - I vaguely remember a fascination, but this memory might well be a dream as anything real.