I’ve been looking for ravens for awhile.

Normally, on my way into work, I spot a murder or two of crows. They’re everywhere in Colorado, but I love seeing them anyway; ever since reading John Crowley’s magnificent Ka: Dar Oakley in the Ruin of Ymr, my default fondness for them has multiplied. But ravens? They’ve been elusive. No amount of me scrutinizing Really Big Crows has manifested one—until now.

In the past week, I’ve spotted two ravens. The first was perched on a city-light in the parking lot, next one of my (many) favorite coffee shops in town. I saw his wedge-shaped tail and something in me leaped. Why am I so excited to see you? I don’t even know. 

Then I spotted another on my drive into town, soaring by on the right as my car came to a stop.

I finally looked into the significance of raven energy, curious why a) I’ve been so fixated on seeing one, and b) what they might have to teach me.


Ah. Yes. That thing my morning tarot draws have been gently hinting about for awhile. (I’ve gotten the Death card more than once, lately.)

I used to be afraid of it.

Now I think I’m craving it. I want change so badly. I’m tired of the way things are.

Is that the real reason why I’ve been searching the skies for you, Raven?


This kind of change can’t be surface-level. It requires death. Ravens don’t shy away from death; they know that within it, there is life.

And truth be told, as much as I want change, I am afraid of who I’ll become if I let go of … everything.

Your old self is passing, little Wolf. 

I know. And it hurts.

I don’t know what parts of me stay, which will go. Which will be transmuted into something new.

I can’t see what’s on the other side of all this.

But I long to see it.

God, give me eyes for it.

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