This poem was written about a pair of ravens that were nested close to our apartment throughout the pandemic. We would listen for their calls, and looked for them each day when out walking. We were graced with a few chance sightings of these beautiful birds.
Her croaking voice a haunting call.
To stand in her presence and witness
the iridescence of her feathers,
the strut of her gait,
and the breadth of her wings.
An ancient being.
An old soul.
To observe her is to be audience to a spirit of the earth.
In her eyes is a glisten, a glimpse of the magic of creation.
As with any encounter with a creature of the wild,
you are left in awe.
Having been graced with a rare appearance of alien, sentient, intelligent life.
Her stare seems almost to gaze right through you,
to pierce your soul.
Her aura enchants you, leaves you frozen in place.
Shushing as not to disturb her and to extend this moment even just a breath longer.
And in a fleeting moment, she takes to the skies.
And she becomes once again a mystery, a fable.
Leaving you longing for the next sighting.
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