When we built our house in these mountains, we blasted a hole into a huge rock boulder and built inside it. Today we call our place Raven’s Rock because of a resident Raven that came to our front deck after our grandson, Pete’s, funeral. My book “We Are Different Now” is about Pete’s falling to his death in the wee hours of July 5, 2010 at the tender age of 21.
At Pete’s outdoor memorial service, a Raven was sitting in a tree above the musician’s tent and when the service began, it flew to the top of the gazebo where the priest and minister were giving the service. It stared out over the crowd of 300+ people who attended and then flew out and over the people and away. Many people noticed and commented on this phenom. A Raven came to our house that day and has been here daily for the three years since Pete left us. This is his picture.
It is raining today and the Raven is just sitting out there quietly in the rain and has been for hours, so I decided to photograph it. I was surprised and pleased to see that the cross on the mountainside up near the overlook also shows up. In the Native American culture (my maternal great-grandmother & my paternal great-grandfather were both half-Cherokee), the Raven is said to portend magic and can shape shift and bring healing energy, thoughts and messages or intentions. I recently learned that the Raven is the patron of Smoke Signals, which is what I named my monthly newsletter for my writing business. How ironic that I chose that name without knowing this.