I always thought I must have been a crow in a previous life. Another time I was a member of the crow tribe, I’m sure of it. Or maybe the crow was my totem, whatever tribe I was in. (Natalie says she can hypnotize me to find out, but I don’t think I really need that.)
These days the crows in the park speak to me. I watch them, their wings shiny and so black they almost look purple; fat and fearless, just like me. They always get the food, and nobody fools with them.
We’re good friends and they like to fly overhead, circling around and around me whenever I come by. A lot of times they speak to me aloud. They call out “Carol, Carol” whenever I bring my sandwich to eat on the grass at lunch. And I always give them a share, too. I break off a piece of my crust and throw it up high, just to get their attention, then I make a little pile of crumbs on a branch that makes a ledge for them to come and eat.
Whenever they come close enough, I like to tell them all about whatever is on my mind. Sometimes I tell them about what’s happening with Martin, and what deShandra says. They listen while they eat, and sometimes they murmur back to me.
The crows are important to me because I know they have a secret they might someday share. But I don’t really have to know their secret. I just think about the crows, and how they have the wisdom, and that makes everything seem special, even on a bad day. And whatever else is happening I always know I can go over to the park and I can find those crows.