The nest had been built years before in a tall fir, and like the tree that was its support and friend, it had withstood the worst that wind and storm could throw at it.

     Sticks were the base of the nest. They formed a cradle, a basket, that measured more than three feet across and was lined with bark, fur, and dead grass. The nest-built with as much care and love, dare one suppose, as any human habitation?-contained a truly special touch. Woven into the lining were strips of an old woolen jacket discovered-oh,happy day!-in a nearby garbage dump.

     At the time our story begins, six gorgeous greenish-blue eggs reposed upon this soft lining. They waited for the moment when life would wave its magic baton and a crew of gawky, half-naked young ravens would venture out of their cocoons into the exciting, dangerous world beyond. 

     Sitting upon these eggs, as stern and watchful as any matron, was a large, glossy female named Sam. She had been bringing youngsters into the world for a long time now. At least, it seemed that way sometimes! But despite this fact, there was one thing that never changed for Sam as spring returned to the woods and the fir shook itself and began to vibrate with new energy and purpose. As she lowered her ample body onto each new batch of shiny eggs, she knew, she absolutely knew, that these were the most beautiful and exquisite eggs she had ever seen in her whole life.

     This year her pride was as profound as always. No raven anywhere at any time had ever produced eggs as handsome and well shaped as these. And yet-something puzzled Sam. 

     It puzzled her a lot.

     Look! That egg over there with the large, olive-green spots.

     What was it about that egg?

     At first glance-or second, or third-there was nothing special about it, was there? Sam asked herself again and again as she went about her daily tasks, foraging for food, preening her mate. 

     After all, the other eggs had some pretty olive-tinted markings too.

     And yet for some reason this one fascinated her. It was as if a voice inside her was saying, Sam, all your offspring are precious, and my love enfolds each of them. But I have a special task for one of these youngsters whom you are bringing into the world. 
     
     But that was nonsense, wasn't it?

     How could such a thing be?

     Everyone knew there was nothing special about ravens. Not anymore. 

     They were large, ungainly birds (except when they flew!) who liked to squabble and make raucous cries as they combed a garbage dump or a picnic site for leftover food.

     Their reputation was not good. They fed on dead meat. They damaged crops. They adored maggots and dead fish.
 
     They were black, glossy black, with a slight purple luster. Sometimes, when humans looked at that blackness, and that brilliant amber eye, they felt the shiver of something strange and primeval. Perhaps even evil!
 
     But once upon a time things were so different, Sam thought, as she stirred and made herself more comfortable on her eggs.

     In olden times-according to the Legends, the ancient tales that her grandmother, wise old Esmeralda, used to share with her-ravens were among the most beloved of all creatures. Their loyalty and faithfulness was such that they would undertake any task that served the cause of goodness. 

     When the Great Spirit commanded ravens to help the prophet Elijah, as he hid in the wilderness, they did not once fail to bring the bread and meat that he needed to survive. Every morning they arrived with food. Every evening they came again. 

     Nor was it only their loyalty and devotion that brought the raven such love and admiration. It was their wisdom, Esmeralda used to say, as she peered at Sam with her kindly but fierce old eyes.

     It was the magic and fun they brought into the world.

     It was the love that shone so palpably in their heart. 

     Was it not a raven-according to the Legends-who once plucked a single perfect flower and brought it to the feet of the patriarch, Adam, as he sat grieving beside a stream for the pain that he saw beginning in the earth? For the disharmony that he saw creeping over the lovely, fertile land, where once beauty and oneness had reigned supreme? 

     All is not lost, the raven seemed to say, by his deed if not in words. 

     Truth and innocence will rise again in the earth. 

     A brave idea, Sam thought bitterly, as she turned her thoughts away from her long-dead grandmother. But where is the promise now? 

     As far as ravens were concerned, there was no promise. 

     It died long ago with the death of El-Shikur, the last of the great raven prophets, who gave his life without stint and without fear in the service of his master, Noah.

Copyright @2001 Christopher Foster

Christopher Foster
4127 Ash Court
Loveland CO 80538
Tocjfoster@aol.com
(970) 461-0632