Dream of the Raven

When the ten-speed, lightweight bicycle broke down off the highway lined thick with orange trees, I noticed a giant raven’s head protruding from the waxy leaves. The bird was stuck somehow, mangled in the branches, crying out. Wide-eyed, I held the bird’s face close to mine. Beak to nose. Dark brown iris to dark brown iris. Feather to feather. This was not the Chihuahuan raven or the fantailed raven or the common raven. Nothing was common about the way we stared at one another while a stranger untangled the bird’s claws from the tree’s limbs and he, finally free, became a naked child swinging in the wind.