Vibrant strikes of lightning penetrated my eyelids at 5:30am. Haphazardly, I threw open the curtain to the lighthouse. Hello friend, you beacon of stability and hope. Glad to see your consistent glow isn't being manipulated by this drunken symphony of electrical impulse.
I slipped quietly from the warmth of bed to fall into the madness of mother nature. Pouring coffee to cup, I threw a much forgotten winter's coat over my shoulders and marched to the beat of thunder's drum to open the park's gate. Wet alder leaves and tannic blackberry notes swept across the freshly wet concrete drive. My humanness was reduced to an ant-like existence against the awe of rage surrounding me.
I inhaled my coffee like a sailor drinking rum from the bottle.
Raven called out to me from the east. I intuited his position near the young buck who had recently been struck on the big hill that rises out of Point Robinson. Raven was coveting this death; celebrating in the essential oils of decomposition. I had been avoiding my favorite morning walk for the past 3 days as the foul scent from the stiffened beast caused me raw discomfort, simply and profoundly.
It was undeniable that it was mine to face Raven so I fought a strong resistance in the bend of my knees and I trudged upward until I reached the spot of carnage. Raven was there alone. In the subtle remnants of mortality he cackled loudly and rose into a giant maple. I was left staring at the space the deer's carcass had filled. Like a crime scene cleared, I was reminded how quickly death comes and goes. How uncomfortable death had made me in its presence and how easy it was to move again in its absence.
The thunder ceased. I walked back in to our home to discover my two children wrapped in colorful layers of imaginative play with my husband happily enveloped in the comfort of our bed. The water at the point was calm and the sky reflected a cascade of grays. My arms reached to hold the lives I love and I shut the door tightly. Raven was quiet as was I.
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