Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Old Age Day by Day March 23,2010

There are a bundle of birds chirping in my back yard this morning. I've got the door open to hear them better. The dogs occasionally jump up and attempt to catch one, which, trust me, is not going to happen. There are more birds this spring because the crow that liked to plop himself in the tree next door has moved on. Not a pleasant sound, the crow, but they can mimic other sounds, and I like their substantial quality. They don't move an inch if the dogs come close. I'm part native American, so I admire a trickster. When we went to Death Valley a few years ago (we were thinking of having our 30th wedding anniversary celebration there but the name seemed ominous) we were driving one morning to Scotty's Castle from Indian Wells, and my husband was forced to brake because a coyote was smack in the middle of the road. He stopped, honked and the coyote eyeballed us but didn't move. We rolled down the windows and talked to him. No budging. We yelled. We were afraid another car would hit him. Was he hurt? I looked to my left and there were two crows on the side, just watching the whole production. After a standoff of ten minutes or so, my husband managed to drive on the right shoulder and continue on down the road. We figured there must be road kill somewhere, but we couldn't spot it.

When we got to the Castle, my husband asked a ranger about it. The ranger said he wished we'd run over the damn coyote. Evidently the coyote and the two crows were a team, and it was the coyote's job to get people to throw food out of the car and take all the risk, and the crows generously split the proceeds. We had been so stupid we spoiled their game.

I like crows and ravens so much I've read a whole book about them. I like their bigness, those shiny black feathers, the way they can laugh and make fun of me, and I like being outsmarted by a being in a natural world that we are supposed to rule. I appreciate that they've been on this continent as long as Indians, at least ten thousand years, and though they may be invisible to a lot of people, they exist, they thrive, they enjoy a good joke, they make the best out of whatever environment they're in. If life is short, hard and brutal, it is also filled with delightful adventures. The cosmic joke is not treasuring every minute of it. Natives, both of us; oldies but goodies.

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