On Ravens' Wings

On Ravens’ Wings

            A blanket of clouds hovers over Puget Sound and mist tendrils weave through the steep bank of salal and ferns. At the outer edges of my yard, mature evergreens stand like sentinels above the bay. When “the thin time” arrives, that short magical period when the dark and light change places, I am witness to the miracle of life. I rise early, slip on my rubber boots, and step outside.

            The damp air plumps my gray curls, and I suck in the essence of earth and sea. Cradling a mug of Seattle’s Best, I watch for the ravens. For almost ten days, they have been feeding and protecting their young: a tag team on a mission.

            The bald eagle from across the bay makes occasional forays, and a raucous bird alarm startles the stillness as winged soldiers chase the intruder away. Birds too have community support systems: the feisty gulls, watchful ravens, and even the small song birds erupt at a moment’s notice when danger is near.

            Life is tenuous in the microcosm of my backyard. Twice a day the mudflat is exposed and from my aerie I watch the birthing and the dying, the power struggles and the feeding frenzies. Flying solo allows me to be a detached witness, and I am filled with curiosity and reverence. A spritz of rain blows through the yard; clouds hover; squalls blow in, and minutes later the yard is blissfully quiet again. This is it: ephemeral and amazing.

            My daughter has asked me to get my affairs in order... the healthcare directive, the will, the “final arrangements”. I’d rather look out than within, but she’s right, it’s time. The cancer diagnosis and ensuing chemotherapy has given me a new lease on life and sensitivity to the miracle of it, but the responsible thing to do would be to make a plan. That’s what she’s asking of me: “Mom, I want to know your wishes, so in the end I can do what you want.” I have to giggle. I’m touched by her concerns. I guess I might as well acknowledge the intangibles, so I’ll tell her my truth: I want to be carried away on raven’s wings to a secluded old-growth forest in the Pacific Northwest. What happens after that,” I’ll add, “really doesn’t matter. “