About ten days ago men came and chopped down the last remaining dead pine within view. The one which had the raven nest in it, the one with branches chopped to just about the very top.
The nest is gone now. The ravens are not. All day, literally, it was like living next door to angry neighbors, with yelling and bickering constant, filling the air with the noise. Raven babies, now at flight, conversed with their parents, their parents cawed back, a dictionary of raven terms being used. They flew over, all around, from tree to tree, making noises. And I was glad to hear it.
A wonderful thing to be able to see a raven nest, the fledglings hatched and take flight while we watched from a distance, now being trained on how to be an adult raven, how to eat, how to survive. Soon, they will be gone, the parents will be alone with their territory once more. Next year a different tree, and the process all over again.
For whatever reason I have been sleeping in. I never set my clock because I generally wake up at six. Not this week. Yes, I’ve been going to bed later, but not enough to justify nine hours of sleep. Sick? I don’t know. Does throw me off, makes me stumble around, trying to find my bearings. And even still, there is progression. Little things. Out of my control which require my response but are not born of my assertions.
Steady along. To the end.
Some days that is as much as can or should be said.
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