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(Not one of the actual crows from the story, but one doing
an acceptable imitation of a couple of them) |
It is a well kept secret among crows that they can curse you. Some people get an uncanny feeling from crows, others are attracted to their mystique and dark aura, others despise them or fear them. Few are indifferent. Yet fewer still take seriously the crow's mastery of the dark arts. This was a mistake I committed recently.
I was happily trespassing in a forested area (well, at the time I didn't know I was trespassing, I'll get back to that toward the end), enhancing a path by putting logs to channel bipedal traffic along the path and away from the undergrowth, when I noticed a rather agitated crow. I knew it was agitated, and more precisely agitated
at me, because it would look at me, cawing at the top of its voice, and peck with all its might at the branch it stood on, making it abundantly clear that it was picturing my head in its talons and not a tree limb. I noted this, and the presence of another crow, also upset but less intent on threatening the physical integrity of my scalp. I assumed a nest must be nearby, and my branch-moving antics were unwanted in the neighborhood.
It was shortly after this that my fate was sealed. Under some litter, I spotted a skull. It was the skull of a crow. "Wow!" I thought, "I haven't found a bird skull in years!" So I picked up said skull and walked away, absent-mindedly thanking the crows for their "gift", though noticing that they were still as transparent in their vehement desire to shred my skin and puncture my every vital organ with great beaked gusto.
After this, I walked home, showing my find on the way to neighbor Dave, who asked whether I had made an offering in return. I felt a bit chagrinned to be receiving spiritual instruction from Dave, but I mentioned having broadcasted a mental "thank you" upon leaving. Next, scanning the surroundings, my eyes were caught by a cloud of small feathers floating down from a garage roof. Looking up, I beheld the body of a Varied Thrush, disemboweled and bouncing helplessly under the rhythmic assaults of... a large crow's beak. The crow then seized its prize (which I assume it had acquired from a hawk or bald eagle), and flew with it across the road, to another garage roof. There it proceeded to finish plucking and devouring the hapless songbird.
After a while I returned to see what was left, and found the two wings joined by the sternum; mostly blood-stained feathers and bone and very little meat. I wanted to get some feathers, but when I moved forward the crow lunged out of the nearby red-cedar and swooped down on me yelling and swearing! It perched on the phone wire and seemed to consider using it to model what its beak would do to my tender flesh were I to tempt it, but decided against it and stuck to vocally abusing me. Every time I stepped toward the remnants of the carcass I was mobbed and assaulted with raucous utterances of condemnation.
Returning home utterly castigated, I put the skull on my bed-side table. I expected it might give me some kind of dreams, not least likely nightmares. But that, sadly didn't occur. I did, however, become sick. Not bed-ridden kind of sick, more sinus-irritated, runny-nosed, tired kind of sick.
So after a few days, I admitted to myself that appropriating the skull had maybe been a bad idea. I decided to return it to the location I had taken it from. It was cloudy and drizzly and gray, but I made my way to the park. I was engrossed in observing a robin and several passing ruby-crowned kinglets when someone beckoned to me and told me that the children from the nearby school would be in recess soon. Startled our of my trance, I thanked them for the heads up, though I found it strange that someone would think of warning me of the impending appearance of children. Still I returned my attention to the robin, but only a few moments later was recalled by a stern "excuse me, sir." This time when I turned around, I realized I was in the presence of two police officers! Well, my morning sure was becoming interesting. This is when I was informed that I was in effect trespassing on school ground, albeit an area of school ground that the children are prohibited from entering (it's dirty and full of bugs, you know). I remarked that everyone in the neighborhood seemed to enjoy walking their dog along the well-worn path, but that didn't appear to amuse. My information was taken, and I vacated the premises, after maybe 2 minutes of first arriving in this spot I have visited a couple dozen times without incident.
So I made my way along the paved sidewalk, which I'm allowed to wear down my shoes on. This is the last commons of the modern folk. Though you shouldn't try staying in one place for too long, or, heavens forbid, sitting or lying on it. I reached the spot I was aiming for from the other end, and swiftly deposited the skull in a hidden location next to a red-cedar, along with 9 horse-chestnuts that I collected last autumn. The first thing I noticed upon leaving the darkness of the tree-cover was that it was sunny now. In fact, I had to look far into the distance to see any trace of clouds. Wasn't it just raining? As I walked home I looked up and saw a crow waiting on a balcony rail. A second crow joined the first one, and they flew up to the roof together, where the first crow fetched some food that had been stashed in the gutter and fed it to his begging mate. I was glad that this time I was leaving with a vision of love ("allofeeding" is the term for a male feeding a mate during courting), rather than a heinous vociferation of gore-spattered aspirations.
I know you would be skeptical if I said that I felt in full health again in the blink of an eye. In truth, I came home and slept for several hours that afternoon. I feel better now, and in the morning I will surely feel much replenished.
The morale of this story though is that the more I train my awareness to decipher the land and its inhabitants, the more fascinating dimensions are revealed. The effect of my mind's processes on my surroundings and the reciprocal impact of other beings on my life, even in previously unbelievable ways, become increasingly palpable. Episodes like this one, like the
cougar tracks I followed a few days ago, are signs that my awareness is becoming greater and my senses are tuning in to the wilderness around me. Had I not payed attention, I might have ignored the crow's anger in the first place, or dismissed "that loud bird" as another unexplainable phenomena of nature. I might not have spotted the thrush becoming dinner, would not have been curious to the point of wanting to approach to see what the wing feathers are like and therefore not been mobbed. In response to being sick I might have taken some pills and waited to get better again, gone back to my day job, and never allowed myself to think this had anything to do with the skull now gathering dust on a shelf. None of this would have had any meaning. Coincidences. Non-events. Only by regaining my sensory participation in the world does the meaning of these experiences unfold. Do you think your experiences have meaning? When was the last time you looked at a crow? Can you recall an occasion when a wild animal's behavior indicated that it recognized you as a unique individual?
