i fed the cats while Maureen slept before i walked out to retrieve the newspaper, a tradition since my birth that i fear will end soon.
It was gray, a seaport morning. i stood in the middle of our driveway and wondered what folks would think of an old man standing barefoot in shorts and tee shirt before the Southwest corner really began to stir. i raised my sights to the sky. Gray, all gray. Then, a lone raven came a’winging on high from the northwest headed southeast toward the Mexican hills and mesas as if on a mission. i watched him in his flight, flapping quickly, on a mission. His energy expended would wipe out a runner before 100 yards. His flight was straight, unwavering. i wondered why this solo raven would have such purpose.
Then, another raven appeared from the same origin, on the same line as the first disappeared into the gray of the Mexico sky. Then another: same flight, far enough to seem unrelated. Then another, again distant enough from his predecessor to seem unrelated. And another, the last one, followed, the same path with the same energy.
i marveled at the world, at nature, at ravens, at life. There is so much we don’t know, can’t comprehend in this gray of morning in a seaport town. This, i think, is a good thing, sort of like living with it, dealing with it as is.
Early morning gray and purposeful ravens is a good way to start a day.