In 2006, I hiked Death Valley. While traversing across the grains of worn desert floor. I felt the radiant heat burning my face. I could touch nothing around me, as it felt like my hands crossed paths with a torch. I came across a flock crows, I like to think the Death Valley Crows live by a different code of survival. No where else, I have traveled has birds acted like this. They are the dominant force here in the desert, picking at anything alive or dead. As I watch them, one can see a few panting in the heat. Others are watching for food, while a few are protecting the flock. These are smart birds, they know how to survive in the worst conditions. Stare a Death Valley Crow down and you feel like you’re in some kind of trance, mesmerized by the silk black coat and eyes. They let you know when you get to close. I have seen them attack individuals like a Hitchcock movie. Other times they swarm an individual, trapping them with in the flock.
The wisp of golden amber fills my sight as the saint’s beacon taunts the soul.
I marveled this ungainly peasant only to find a heaven, which intertwines amongst hell.
Freedom I desire, but told to follow.
The melancholy burden bore called faith; I shut the door, embracing nevermore.
A black bird appears near my human shackle, he sings to me, beguiling my lost soul.
I have been told, and so I pause.
With a venery of darkness, I shall shuffle off this mortal coil to live.
I can feel it calling as it burns a path in my reverie.
I know the truth of my decision.
I always knew, I’d never learn.
The stench of deaths fuel lingers with every ash dripping from my figure tips.
In the winds of black, I fly to Freedom, to be no more.