Guardians of first light

I was up before the sun again today.  Don’t be surprised, I’m frequently awake before dawn after fitful nights of broken sleep.  This particular dawn was beautiful.  Cold, crisp, clear, still.  The sky appeared as a mirror reflecting nothing but the inky blackness of the receding night.  

Sparse clouds were a subtle ultramarine against the fire on the horizon.  Brilliant dark oranges were giving way to smooth pinks and yellows.  No one else in the world appeared to be active as I ventured into the back garden.  I hadn’t even made my first cup of coffee, as I watched the sun slowly rise.  I wanted to experience the majesty of the morning, the solitude of sun-up, and the calm before the inevitable storm of the day. 

I stood on the back patio basking in the fresh dew-filled air.  Then I saw it; a solitary crow perched on the fence.  It had been watching me the entire time, its head tilted to one side.  Evidently as intrigued as I, that another soul was out and about at this hour.  There was an understanding between us; no nervousness on the crow’s part, nor any desire of mine to disturb the crow in whatever daily ritual it was executing. 

I subscribe to the notion that crows are not harbingers of doom, nor foreshadowing omens.  But rather, they are the observers of the world.  Witnesses to all that transpire with a shared cultural memory that stretches beyond human comprehension.  Indeed, Odin had two ravens as companions; Huginn and Muninn.  They would report back to him from their travels, imparting their knowledge, giving Odin his all-seeing ability for which he was revered for.  Ravens are crow's larger cousins.

I gave the crow a polite nod of acknowledgment.  The crow returned my nod.  A connection.  A recognition of mutual respect between species, had transpired.  A shared moment in the lull of the day, at slack time, with two souls sharing a private communique.