“Ravens are the birds I’ll miss most when I die. If only the darkness into which we must look were composed of the black light of their limber intelligence. If only we did not have to die at all. If only the darkness into which we must look were composed of the black light of their limber intelligence. If only we did not have to die at all. Instead, we could become ravens.

-Louise Erdrich

I’ve added an essential new element to my garden bed, a beautiful iron Raven sculpture I discovered online, intended as a garden ornament, but is so much more to me. He’s a spiritual fixture with all kinds of messages.

I love Edgar Allen Poe, but I don’t understand his very gloomy fascination with the raven. He seems to see them as elements of darkness, fear, and death. I see them differently as symbols of life, wisdom, independence, and cruelty.

We have a raven who lives in a tree outside our bedroom window. He and Maria have been talking to each other for months. I see him as a savvy, determined, and ruthless spirit. He never runs or hides and never quits. He has no compunction about stealing food from a baby bird’s mouth or praying on worms and nests.

I am fascinated by ravens; Maria’s interest in them has sparked mine. I’m sure there will be a raven quilt or hanging piece one day; Maria does not rush into anything. Ideas simmer and stew.

I’m fascinated by the raven. I’ve done my homework. I’ve picked my raising bed guardian carefully.

When they fly, ravens soar with pointed tail feathers, while crows frequently flap their wings with fan-shaped feather tips. The less pleasant ravens prefer wilder habitats and produce low-pitched croaks. In contrast, friendly crows inhabit urban areas and make high-pitched caws.

We hear those croaks every morning, our raven is big, and he doesn’t seem friendly. But he does feel connected to us. He is always watching and in the morning, it feels like he is talking to us.

I relate to this bird; I don’t know what he symbolizes or what kind of an animal spirit he might be. I just find him haunting and mysterious, one part admirable, one-piece dark.

To Poe, the ravens “thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before.” They were icons of darkness.

To me, they are not about terrors but all about identity and independence.

They make their own rules, allow no one to tell them what to do, take what they need, and always reach out to communicate, presumably with other ravens or crows. They are quick and smart.

I’ve learned that ravens are not like any other birds. I admire them, although not everything about them. They are shameless thieves.

Common Ravens are not as social as crows; I see them alone or in pairs except around food sources like landfills. Ravens are confident, inquisitive birds that strut around, have many opinions, or occasionally bound forward with light, two-footed hops. They are large birds, fearless but cautious.

I’m thrilled to have this raven in my garden bed, where he will spend the summer. In the Fall or Winter, I’ll bring him into my study, and he will join my mystical muses and spirits group. I have a spot all reading for him.

In the meantime, he’ll watch the flower bed and the flowers.

I feel he knows me; I see him up in the maple tree, watching me often. He inspires me, and I trust him.