In the gloom before dawn, the radio grim with deaths and threats, and prophesying more rain, I heard a female tawny owl: “Kee-wick! Keewick!” Her wild peal seemed a charm against despair. My family love owls – ‘owla’ was one of my son’s first words. The female ‘kee-wicks’, while the male answers ‘hoo-hoo!’
There was no sign of the owl but a heron flew up the valley, and gave her “Zank!” cry, a sound with broken ice in it, and a raven went over, high up. He was silent, no laughing “Pruuk-pruuk!” this morning, but my heart lifted at the sight of his thick outline and diamond-shaped tail.
Irish, Welsh, Norse and Greek mythologies all have ravens as the messengers of the Gods, so I tend to say good day…