Yesterday the crow tried his best to ruin me. I won’t say the nature of the spikes but they came from all angles. They would have wedged themselves deep a year or so back but yesterday I knocked them aside like swatting flies. It wasn’t pleasant. Every time I took control of one, or shook it off, another was circling not too far away. These ruminations took between two and thirty minutes to either disperse or ignore. Not the longest fights I’ve had. Spikes used to last for days, weeks, months in the bad old days. Some of those old bastards still stir in the deeper canyons even now – if a familiar trigger is pulled, or the Crow rustles his feathers a certain way.
I have a lot of time on my hands right now: yesterday was spent on the porch overlooking lush green islands in a gently rolling sea – nothing to distract me from that pecking black beak on my shoulder. It was inevitable the Crow would attack, I was simply taken aback from the various memories and images he used. I guess he showed imagination and creativity. Top of the class stuff. Yet it is when I am eagerly looking forward to something that he caws the loudest – he’s a spiteful devil. Whether it’s death related, or violence threatening, or little one running off with the milkman, or something someone said last month or a million years ago, it usually manifests in my mind a day before an anticipated event and spirals so rapidly out of control that the next day that spike is in so deep it’s practically nailing me to the ground. No fucking good to anyone.
But yesterday was a good day. Not because the crow came, but because I sent him so curtly on his way again.