Murmurs On The Land

A distant crow makes an announcement,
and tall grasses sway in the breeze
as sparrows chatter in the spruce along the ridgeline.
A sudden wind pushes through alders and maples,
and accents the drone of unseen insects.
Apples plop to the ground, not quite ripe,
and a bee goes about her work near the herbs.
The creek tumbles through the woods,
and I say a prayer for Gaia.
My own song rises to greet the new moon,
and our renewal blooms in my heart.

In my ongoing mission to name each of the new moons this year, this September lunation I will call Crow Molt Moon.

Throughout August and September each year my jolly band of crows gift me with their feathers. I have hundreds of them now and I’m waiting for inspiration to use some of them in some special artwork. But for now, many of them reside in a basket (above) that hangs on the wall of my living room, surrounded by other crow art.

Gathering the feathers causes me to be selective, since some of them are in really bad shape—ragged evidence of gales overcome, thunderstorms survived. Perhaps I should keep some of those, too, for inspiration during my own challenges. Is it wrong to want only the pretty feathers? Or just societal brainwashing?

Crows offer their feathers to me nearly every day. Blacker than a moonless night, they remind me of the heights just fallen from. It’s as if each feather can be read, can tell a tale of adventure, of sunsets seen from flyways, of treetops slept in, of moonlight flown through, of sonatas written to the rhythm of their steady wing beats.

I write about crows a lot, as I feel a special bond with them. It isn’t their color, as I’m not drawn to black—though in strong sunlight there is often a deep purplish sheen to their glossy bodies. One reason I love them is they make me laugh with their never ending antics. Bunches of them always seem to be up to something, and hardly an hour goes by without a chorus of comments echoing across the hillside.

I also admire their bravado in defending their homes and their young. Even a single crow will take on a marauding eagle and send him back to his aerie. I see this all the time where I live, next to an eagle’s nest.

crows living dangerously video

CONTEMPLATIONS

• Are there things in your world that have been cast off yet still retain beauty and meaning?
• Is there something you need to shed from your life?
• What do you ceaselessly protect?

Flap around with other comic crows here.