I arose with Yosemite’s dawn and made my leisurely way through morning camp chores – mostly drinking coffee and watching dawn’s fingertips stroke Glacier Point. I finally tidied up breakfast and made ready to set off on my hike – a jaunt up the Snow Creek Trail. My pack was packed except for a few munchies – two ziplock bags filled respectively with dried fruit and peanuts – which I removed from the steel bear box and set on the picnic table. I stepped to the open rear of my van to retrieve my pack and heard a commotion behind me.
I whirled, but my bags of goodies were already headed for the deep woods in the clutches of two large ravens.
I dropped my pack and gave chase. Some distance into the trees, I realized – Holy EXPLETIVE! I’m sprinting! It’s been a decade or two since I did that and I decided it was best to quit, especially since the ravens, even burdened, were widening the gap between us. Uttering raucous, mocking caws, they soon disappeared.
I returned to camp and sat pondering my losses with a third cup of coffee. After a few minutes, up flapped Mr. Raven. He settled on a high branch, cocked his head to one side and peered down at me, seemingly hoping that I’d offer him a second course of breakfast. I addressed him in a conversational tone and told him that his ancestry was more than suspect. He listened attentively until I finished. When he was sure I had no more to say, he flew away.
A few minutes later, he swooped down and dropped my stolen baggie of peanuts at the edge of camp and alighted on his comfy branch.
I plucked up the fat baggie, found it to be in mint condition and glanced up at Mr. Raven.
He spread his wings and dove into morning’s pine shadows.
I like it, I like it – having recently been swooped by about 20 Ravens on an early morning river walk. It was beautiful as is your story.
Thanks for commenting, Paulette! We are connected to all living creatures it takes a lifetime to discover.