Corvine Musings

Just before dawn on a frigid winter morning, a large stand of tall pine trees appears to come alive.  In the semi-darkness, beginning at the tree tops, there is sudden undulant movement like a huge swarm of gigantic black wasps.  This nightmarish scene evokes a vision of the Gorgon, Medusa, with her ebon hair of writhing snakes.  Suddenly, as drawn breaks, the creatures begin to vocalize in shrieks, squawks, and a variety of other piercing sounds.  Another crow morning has commenced as rowdy dowdy  flying formations of black  aviators sweep through the aurorean sky.  A solo flyer leaves the raucous press circling upward then downward with joyful abandon.  His bright onyx eyes take in everything as he moves his head from side to side at varying angles to adjust for his monocular vision.  He narrows his circle as he spots a fresh road kill and begins his graceful descent.  His landing isn't as smooth, but he is accustomed to that.  As he begins to feed, a passing truck driver mutters to himself "there's bad luck today." The native American people knew better.  To them every creature was a 'thou.'   They observed how  their two  legged winged brothers lived communally sharing in the rearing of their young, ministering to their oldsters and fashioning primitive tools.  Omens of ill fated destiny or harbingers of dormant fulfillment?