Ravens that Talk to Humans

Rebecca's clay work drying on the kitchen island
or
what  Rebecca does when she is not writing papers
or
reading other people's papers

I first noticed that a raven was talking to me when I was picking raspberries early one morning.

To test my theory out that this was so, I called back to it, simulating a raven’s voice as best I could. 

Pathetic, so I tried again.

The raven responded.

As I picked berries, I kept up the call and response until at one moment I thought, “Hey, what am I doing – talking to this raven instead of giving my full attention to these raspberries.”

I didn’t think much more of it until this morning when I was walking with Rebecca.

The raven began the conversation again and I gave it a few responses to which it gave me back a few more calls.

Rebecca tried that sound of hollow sticks clicking together, for we are sure that it is a raven sound as well.

The raven ignored her – either because she is no match for it, or too much of a match. Still we have fun using our voices to match its voice.

We had been looking at the splashes of fushia flowers alongside the road.

Years ago, Mrs. French would walk this road, throwing down seeds, believing that long after she was dead the flowers would still replicate themselves, and thus leaving a trace that she had been here.

She was right.  We knew she had walked this way.

We didn’t have to go far before we saw another clump of colour that seemed to be a cousin to the first, Mrs. French’s way of talking back to the universe.

A lovely walk for me.

Arta