A Common Shape-Shifted Shaman
The Raven Returns After completing a midnight query, I exited Google and finished eating strawberry streusel. In haste, I had left the window omen. A black bird flew in. What was this omen? I was still mourning my late wife’s passing. I called to Eleanor in the realm beyond, but she didn’t respond. Years had lapsed, but nothing cooled my passion. I clasped a knife to guard against the bird. I released useless weapon immediately When he began encircling me in counter clockwise fashion. It was a muggy night in mid-February. I hoped to never be solitary. I turned off the computer and wondered If this beast had escaped from an aviary. From my chalice, I finished drinking the last few drops of sherry. Was this strange animal kind or scary? The bird pecked at an Edgar Allan Poe book in my library. Fearing no danger, I reached out my right hand With perfect love and perfect trust to this stranger. I smelled Eleanor’s scent like lavender linger. Under a wall calendar, the bird bit my right index finger. I wiped off blood from my hurt hand with a napkin. I saw the raven had dropped a gold scarab ring. I dusted off clumpy desert sand and thanked generous Arab Who had reached across time to enrich me. The air grew more humid; I cursed Cupid. Stupid cherub failed to shoot me with his arrow, Leaving me pining and whining about Eleanor. I felt guilty when I began to berate her. Grabbing gold scarab ring, I noticed an Egyptian inscription. I could not interpret hieroglyphics. I could only conjecture about specifics Unless I contacted a curator. Perhaps he could decipher the ring’s engraving And deliver an enlightening and fascinating lecture. Eleanor’s memory had become enslaving. Did the bird give me this jewelry to fool me? I gazed at the large ebony bird’s blood-stained beak And asked the raven when this ring would be returned to its owner. Shrieked the raven: “It is written: Forevermore!” I closed the new purple and gold curtain. Of the ring’s origin, would I forever remain uncertain? The gold beetle ring’s simple design was elegant and narrow, Priceless if truly owned by a pharaoh. I had delighted in our weird warm winter. Suddenly, the bird flew about and landed atop my printer. I placed the ring on my left hand and saw its perfect symmetry. I instantly performed psychometry: I perceived a slave jeweler in worn sandals Crafting this artwork in the heat of the noon steam For high priestess to wear under that night’s moonbeam. He prayed his art would please mysterious lady. In his now idle warm hands, some sand was sifted. He imagined strange ladies lighting candles in ceremony Before their consciousness would become temporarily shifted. Although his people’s labor was forced charity, He lacked acrimony with talent of God given rarity. With a saintly love for his oppressive neighbor, The man caressed, anointed, and blessed the ring. He asked for its wearer to see things with uncommon clarity. With intense focus, the priestess praised the Goddess. She placed the light beetle band on her right hand before the blessing. She chanted a protection prayer for her animals and land. She ranted against perceived enemies. The confident woman acknowledged each of seven directions In order and the four elements of magic While a small silver censer burned incense. After the rite, priestess replaced everything in the center. During the night, she dreamt the gold ring was missing. The lady was now frightened by the culprit’s animosity. Who dared disturb the sanctity of the pulpit? Her adrenaline rushed with a new savage velocity. She loudly cast a spontaneous spell: “Let stolen ring be returned to its owner across time and space, Carried by a bird who will draw blood when he sees true owner’s face.” With the exquisite sunrise, my curious reverie ended. By my discovery, I was not offended. I knew true purpose of the bird’s visit. Eleanor had always been my inspiration. Now I turned to bardic lubrication. Could a prophet’s burden be eased by cheap bourbon? I opened the bottle and started to quaff it. I gazed at a bowl and performed divination. I twisted the gold ring into a perfect fit. I stared at the fowl who continued to sit atop the printer. How did the raven know when to enter? What would become of me this wonderful winter? Fearing that my uninvited guest was hungry, I sliced an apple in half horizontally. I could now understand why the ring felt familiar on my hand. I had to admit revealed proof was substantial. I opened the door to release the bird Who terrified Dash, my green-eyed Cocker Spaniel. Inspired, I inquired of the brave raven: Although it is not your sacred duty, Can you somehow reunite me with my young raven-haired beauty? The scavenger bird did not wish to leave. I asked how long I would grieve for irreplaceable Eleanor. The old raven, who I knew was a common shape-shifted shaman, Replied: “It is written: Forevermore!”