The Crow calls

Healing through story

Deep in the forest, far from anything of importance is a place of solitude.

A place of quiet, rest, and peace.  It wasn’t always this way, no, for a very long time this uniquely special place was a heinous mess of chaos, sadness, and the most gut wrenching despair.  A place nobody wanted to be in, but was always occupied by the one who made it.  Quite simply, a tragedy without poetic license.

Sounds couldn’t reach this place.  Light abandoned it.  Nothing was perceivable past the ruin.

Looking upward she was visible through the clouds, but she no longer looked down.  She no longer tried to land.  It was just a form of habit.  Circling, waiting, crying for the lost.  Looking toward the horizon, making plans for the future, she flew higher.

And then, for the simplest of reasons, the place of despair was destroyed by the one who made it.  Everything, all of it.   Razed.   Brutally.  Painfully.  The lumbering beast planting flowers, nurturing nature, trying to heal the land that had been wrecked by havoc.  He no longer looked to the skies.. She was free to fly.   That was enough.  

As the land cleared, and the water ran clear.. He saw it.. Little tiny, almost impossible to spot, prints where she had landed.  Still refusing to search the skies.  Just focused on what was in front of him.  The beast worked, toiled, and felt hope.  A far ranging hope.  The future was uncertain and unknown, but today, hope flowed as clear as the stream.

***

Floating in the grand river, water cool and untouched by imperfection, Mother Otter held her child close at hand.  Sleeping as they do, connected.  Startled by a cry the little one wakes and hears the tearing of the trees, the raging of the stampede of one, the sound of an avalanche raising the forest.   “Shhhh”, Mother otter whispers in his ear, “It’ll be ok.”

The Crow has called to her beast.  She calls him home.  

The Crow has called.