The sharp black beak taps the small container, easily
puncturing the white plastic. The raven
tastes the spicy delights within, a mixture of sweetness and tang for which it
has no words. It moves on to the second container
with more of the piquant sauce that helps take the edge off its hunger.
Then a human comes along in a burgundy truck, interrupting
its al fresco dining. The raven spreads its wings and heads for the
nearest spruce tree. In the world of
ravens, those sauce containers are dinner.
In the world of humans, those sauce containers are litter, tossed out
the window of a moving vehicle with the rest of the McDonalds wrappings.
The human stands with grab stick and yellow bag in hand,
considering the white sauce containers.
It moves away, gathering the paper bag, napkins, and cardboard sleeves,
before returning to the five sauce cups.
Three are still full. More
consideration, some mulling, a bit of indecision. Into the yellow bag goes the raven’s dinner.
Tonight the wind blows and the rain lashes at the raven
clinging to a tree branch, its belly no doubt empty, and all because of a human
obsessed with ridding the highway of litter.
The raven will sleep uneasily this autumn night as its roost threatens
to upend the bird with each gust.
Tonight the wind blows and the rain lashes at the home of
the human. It is well fed, warm and
comfortable, safely harbored from the screaming wind and lashing rain. Yet, all is not well in the home of the
human. It is haunted by thoughts of the
raven, feels remorse for robbing it of its dinner, and wishes it could turn
back time to move the sauce containers to an inconspicuous place.
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| In one of these bags is a raven's dinner. |