The Protectors

I pulled a hose and sprinkler a short distance down the hill at the back of my house to water a few of the native pine trees.  As I stretched the hose to the farthest point, a conspiracy of ravens erupted in the trees not far below me.  Several birds began squawking from points unseen.  Two took flight and, while also squawking, swung back and forth the in the air above me.

“What’s up, boys?” I called out to them.

I stood there for a while, watching.  I expected the birds to drift away but they refused to relent.

“What are you hiding down there?” I asked.

Something in a cluster of older pines below me was of great interest to the ravens.  Curious, I dropped the hose and sprinkler and slowly descended the hill.  I suspected the ravens were onto a feast.  Maybe a freshly dead animal.  The closer I drew near the trees, the more agitated the ravens became.  And then I spotted the reason the ravens were acting so strangely.  Halfway up one of the trees a solitary and quiet raven perched near the trunk of the tree.

While ravens will generally not allow close approach, I was able to walk up immediately below the raven in the tree.

It occurred to me something was wrong with the raven.   The bird lacked the energy or the wherewithal to fly away.  The bird peered down at me.  I looked up at the bird.  I stood there for long while.

As a boy, I would have picked up a stick or stone to throw at the bird.  But this is a different day.  I waved at the bird and slowly climbed back up the hill.  The ravens in the air and ravens squawking from nearby trees—the protectors—quickly settled into silence as I ascended toward my house.

—Mitchell Hegman