|Ravens are rain forest roosters|
Here in the northern hemisphere we are just about through the darkest days of the year. In less than 2 weeks we will celebrate winter solstice, the darkest day of them all. These are magical times, and humans are not the only ones to notice.
I live in a semi-rural part of a small south Vancouver Island coastal village of 10,000. Here, among the fog-cloaked tall trees, people have not yet taken over. Our town is shared with harbour seals, orcas, black bears, cougars, bald eagles, and big, black ravens.
Out here, on the far western edge of the continent, you can experience the folly of feeling like an all-powerful, highly evolved ape. In comparison to the vastness of the stormy sea on one side, and the impenetrable, deeply green, mossy forest on the other, the affairs of humans are mere scurryings of ants, and the watchful ravens reside over it all.
Over the past few long nights the ravens have been orchestrating the elements from their lofty laboratories in the tree tops within earshot of my bedroom window. Dressed in their black cloaks, these early risers are the mysterious roosters of the rain forest.
Each morning for the past couple of weeks I have been woken by the raven's guttural and commanding call. I hear it as an invitation to stand up and face the magic of the rising sun, and new day.
A day that will soon be a little more magical, and a little more sunny than the one before.