She began to think, to hope in a small secret place in her heart, that it was Darla trying to communicate with her. Then she remembered Darla telling her once that the crow was Leviâs totem, his spirit guide, and she recalled seeing him place his crow pendant around Darlaâs neck that night.
Now, whenever she encounters the birds, she is overcome with aversion to them, can only think of them in their mythical role as harbingers of death.
Youâre too late
, she thinks angrily as two swoop down from the sky. Their barking cries trail behind as they glide above her with liquid strokes and disappear around the bend. An unexpected shiver passes through her despite the warmth of the day. The road winds on, leading closer to the lakeshore, then wandering away again as it cuts through the forest. The crowsâ raspy voices grow louder as she approaches a fork in the road. To her right a narrow logging trail leads up to the timbered hillside. She stays on the lower road, and on the next turn comes upon the reason for the cacophonous cries. A few yards ahead, on the side of the road is the limp body of a dead bird. She recalls reading somewhere that finding a dead crow is good luck.
Good luck for whom
, she thinks wryly. Certainly not the crow, or his companions who are gathered around their fallen brother. Except for in old black-and-white movies she has never seen so many gathered together in one place, hadnât even realized that there were flocks this size in the area. Some hop about on the ground near the lifeless pile of ebony feathers. Others blacken the branches of the fir tree above, their raucous âcawsâ filling the air as if they can will the dead bird to take wing. Julie approaches slowly. No elbow wing of feather lifts in threatened flight as she stands before them. Despite her aversion, something about the scene, the connection between these animals, their concern for their comrade, brings the pressure of tears to her eyes. She blinks them back, and slowly slides the strap from her shoulder. Picking up the camera she removes the leather cover with a gentle, soundless touch and lifts it, closing one eye to focus on the gathering of mourners. At the first shutter click, a few birds lift in flight. Julieâs finger continues pressing,
click⦠click⦠click
. The cries become more urgent, and a flurry of wings lift in unison. She continues to shoot as they rise up, capturing images of the black wave swimming into the blue sky.
As she lowers the camera, her refocusing eyes catch a movement in the shadows beyond the abandoned tree. At first her brain refuses to make sense of the hulking dark form. A wavering black stump? A large dog? Without thinking she raises the camera and zooms in on the apparition. The automatic focus turns the blur into the form of a black bear. Julieâs shaking finger involuntarily presses down.
Click.
The huge head lifts, then in one smooth movement the animal stands upright on its hind legs. Towering over the underbrush, its menacing clawed paws held up in front of its eerily human form, the bear sniffs the air.
Her heart pounding in her ears Julie takes a tentative step backwards. The animal turns toward the sound. Everything she has read scrambles in her head as she freezes in its stare. Is she supposed to meet his gaze, or avoid it? Unable to look away, she tries frantically to recall the instructions for a bear encounter.
Back away slowly; wave your arms to identify yourself as human. Speak calmly.
She cannot find her voice. She lifts her suddenly heavy arms and takes a tentative step back, panic rising in her throat.
Bears want to avoid you as much as you want to avoid them. If a bear gets too closeâ¦
The bear spray! The camera drops to the ground as she grabs blindly at her belt. Still standing upright the bear swings his head from side to side, and lets out a loud grunt. Julieâs fumbling fingers find the leather case, snap it open and free
Now, whenever she encounters the birds, she is overcome with aversion to them, can only think of them in their mythical role as harbingers of death.
Youâre too late
, she thinks angrily as two swoop down from the sky. Their barking cries trail behind as they glide above her with liquid strokes and disappear around the bend. An unexpected shiver passes through her despite the warmth of the day. The road winds on, leading closer to the lakeshore, then wandering away again as it cuts through the forest. The crowsâ raspy voices grow louder as she approaches a fork in the road. To her right a narrow logging trail leads up to the timbered hillside. She stays on the lower road, and on the next turn comes upon the reason for the cacophonous cries. A few yards ahead, on the side of the road is the limp body of a dead bird. She recalls reading somewhere that finding a dead crow is good luck.
Good luck for whom
, she thinks wryly. Certainly not the crow, or his companions who are gathered around their fallen brother. Except for in old black-and-white movies she has never seen so many gathered together in one place, hadnât even realized that there were flocks this size in the area. Some hop about on the ground near the lifeless pile of ebony feathers. Others blacken the branches of the fir tree above, their raucous âcawsâ filling the air as if they can will the dead bird to take wing. Julie approaches slowly. No elbow wing of feather lifts in threatened flight as she stands before them. Despite her aversion, something about the scene, the connection between these animals, their concern for their comrade, brings the pressure of tears to her eyes. She blinks them back, and slowly slides the strap from her shoulder. Picking up the camera she removes the leather cover with a gentle, soundless touch and lifts it, closing one eye to focus on the gathering of mourners. At the first shutter click, a few birds lift in flight. Julieâs finger continues pressing,
click⦠click⦠click
. The cries become more urgent, and a flurry of wings lift in unison. She continues to shoot as they rise up, capturing images of the black wave swimming into the blue sky.
As she lowers the camera, her refocusing eyes catch a movement in the shadows beyond the abandoned tree. At first her brain refuses to make sense of the hulking dark form. A wavering black stump? A large dog? Without thinking she raises the camera and zooms in on the apparition. The automatic focus turns the blur into the form of a black bear. Julieâs shaking finger involuntarily presses down.
Click.
The huge head lifts, then in one smooth movement the animal stands upright on its hind legs. Towering over the underbrush, its menacing clawed paws held up in front of its eerily human form, the bear sniffs the air.
Her heart pounding in her ears Julie takes a tentative step backwards. The animal turns toward the sound. Everything she has read scrambles in her head as she freezes in its stare. Is she supposed to meet his gaze, or avoid it? Unable to look away, she tries frantically to recall the instructions for a bear encounter.
Back away slowly; wave your arms to identify yourself as human. Speak calmly.
She cannot find her voice. She lifts her suddenly heavy arms and takes a tentative step back, panic rising in her throat.
Bears want to avoid you as much as you want to avoid them. If a bear gets too closeâ¦
The bear spray! The camera drops to the ground as she grabs blindly at her belt. Still standing upright the bear swings his head from side to side, and lets out a loud grunt. Julieâs fumbling fingers find the leather case, snap it open and free
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