Beak Rock

Day 138: As if dislodged from its place of prominence at the top of a story pole, the head of Raven nonetheless observes all who travel on Westside Road. It is not as apparent when going south to north, but walking north to south, the likeness always stops me in my tracks. A shaggy mat of ferny feathers cascades from the crown, casting the eye into mysterious shadow above the stony beak. I half-expect a quork of mountain-rattling proportions to come forth from this spirit's throat, though what I hear is a softer series of vocalizations made far overhead. It is an acknowledgement: we know that you, human, have seen and recognized our ancestor. We will go with you and keep you safe. My walks are frequently accompanied by ravens, but here, I am in a greater presence.