To the Right of the Rising Light

By Corvus and William R. Underwood

"Corvus, please tell us a story."

Sitting on a suburban light pole, an old crow by that name would often hear those words spoken to him from other fur or feathered nonhumans of his region. They would come to sit or perch as near as possible to the elder bird, and wait for him to think and then tell a story about other nonhumans of the past or the present.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 9, 2002
• ISBN: 9781403306647

Corvus

My interest in some sports during my early school years led me to be on the wrestling team in college. Following graduation, I was an elementary school teacher and wrestling coach for many years. Several of my summers were spent backpacking on the Appalachian Trail. Eventually, a side path guided me to the Philippines. There I married. We both returned to Michigan, and soon, had two children, a boy and a girl. Both are now grown. Presently, I enjoy jogging (there are some marathons behind me), watching movies on TV, traveling to my Canadian property during the warmer months (to canoe, kayak, walk, enjoy the quiet), and writing the stories from a feathered storyteller named Corvus.

Book preview

Contents

The Crow on the Light Pole

To the Right of the Rising Light

Chat Crow

Muddy and Nocturnus

Sereno and Teeny

Scraper and Vibe

Cheery Chickadee

Skip and the Great Oak

The Reluctant Loon

Ruckus Raccoon

The Discontented Turkey

Ruby and Bumblem

Arrogant Goose

The Head Strong Groundhog

Scawager Gull

Spring Rabbit

Murk Muskrat

The Toad and the Turtle

Roven Robin

The Smell of Scoren

Home

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank my daughter, Chandra, for offering to purchase the first copy of this anthology of short stories. I would like to credit my son, Anthony, for drawing the non-humans pictured in the book, and for creating the cover. And it was my wife, Yonnie, who caused me to put into written words Corvus’s first story to me, Skip and the Great Oak. I later arranged all the stories the Old Bird had given to me into a table of contents. Thank you all.

Bill Underwood

The Crow on the Light Pole

by

William R Underwood

As the sun rose and began evaporating the wetness made by a storm the night before, an old crow glided from behind the oak and willow of a nearby metro-park. With his wings spread, he gently landed on the nearest suburban light pole.

The street light nearest the park seemed to be the old bird’s favorite pole. Each time, morning or afternoon, depending on my day’s schedule, when jogging toward the park, I would pass beneath that pole. More than often the old bird was sitting on it. At rare times he would be sitting alone, but it was more common to see many of the regional birds perched with him. During my first encounter with him, I briefly interrupted my run, paused, and looked up at him on the pole. He cocked his head down toward me and stared back. It was a quick eye to eye contact. I looked away, shook my head as though I was coming out of a brief trance, and resumed my jog.

That night, I awoke late, and sat up at the edge of my bed. I gazed into the darkness. Images unfamiliar to me were racing through my mind. I had somehow acquired the knowledge from that old bird on the pole, and knew what he knew. Since I was not sure how long these new ideas would stay with me, I hurriedly went to my desk. I began scratching notes on any blank piece of paper within my reach.

As a younger bird, the old crow lived many miles to the north, a birch and pine wilderness where there is less human activity. He came three days south from that place to live among a larger population of humans in their suburbs where artificial lights extended the length of each day. The old crow liked the light pole as a perch because it gave him a good view of the humans working and playing around their shelters. He mostly enjoyed watching the nonhuman activity that occurred around the neighborhood of humans.

The old bird was a story teller for the nonhumans in the region. That seemed to account for the many feathered visitors that were often near him. His stories were about nonhumans. They were stories about what he had observed in his northern home. There were stories about the nonhumans in his new home. He also had stories passed to him from other story telling crows he had known in his youth.

Many of the nonhumans of the area went to the light pole where the old bird sat, and asked him for a story. The old crow found pleasure in telling them a story. There were times when he sat alone and remembered a story if something caused him to think of one. However, his first choice was to tell a story to group of listeners. To perch alone was not his regular practice.

You may have noticed that I have been using the terms humans and nonhumans. The story telling crow did not use these words. Instead, he used, as do all nonhumans, the word upbacks to mean humans, because, I believe, they walk with an erect posture. He used, as do all nonhumans, the word downback to mean nonhumans, because, I believe, that most move about with their backbone horizontal to the ground. I chose the words humans and nonhumans for our better understanding.

The nonhumans do not have specific names for their own kind, nor specific names for nonhumans outside their kind. They call themselves furry or furless, feathered, safe or unsafe, small or large. A large furry or feathered, unsafe nonhuman could be a bear or an eagle. If we were to know what specific nonhuman was in a story, I took the liberty to use terms for the nonhumans that we would recognize, if I could identify them in the stories. It was easier to say a sparrow than to say a small feathered, safe nonhuman. I also gave many of the nonhumans personal names. It was easier to remember many of the characters in the stories if they were individuals with personal names. I gave the old dark feathered story teller a name too. I called him Corvus.

The nonhumans also do not have specific names for life that grows from the ground. Vegetation is either short or tall, or soft or hard. I placed names on plants if I recognized them in Corvus’s stories.

The beginning of time for the nonhumans seem to have began with past events that lead to a change in life style for many. One event lead them to learn to speak to other nonhumans outside their own kind. Another event lead many of them to learn to live in the night. Other events lead to other life style changes. I don’t know how long ago these incidents were suppose to have happened. Taking clues from the stories, I would assume that these life style changing occurrences happened when humans were around also. So, taking into account the possible age of the earth, and the short comparative length of time humans have populated our planet, Corvus’s older stories are comparatively recent.

Nonhumans have a vague view that there is something in control beyond what they are able to bring in their through senses. Above the activities of the humans and the nonhumans, there is a great builder of everything. This builder is called the Maker of Nature.

Like humans, the nonhumans have observances for the seasons and past events. Corvus did not say how these commemorations were practiced.

The stories belong to Corvus. I have only interpreted them, interjecting, at times, my own thoughts at the beginning of some stories, as they were

mysteriously passed to my mind during that eye to eye encounter beneath the feathered story teller’s favorite light pole.

To the Right of the Rising Light

by

Corvus Crow

From out of the trees of a nearby park, briefly blocking the Rising Light, a large crow gently landed on a human neighborhood street light. The green grass between the neat rows of human shelters, including the hard paths, were wet and puddled from the storm the night before. Above the roaring noises of the distant traffic, many different kinds of suburban birds were whistling and chirping, welcoming the warmth and the rays of the Rising Light. The old crow secured himself on the pole and then began to scan what he would call his new home.

Who are you!? What are you doing here!? came a caw from above.

The old bird looked up. It was another of his kind gliding and reaching out for the same pole. I am Corvus. I am sitting on this light pole.

No, no! You know what I mean! screamed the other crow as he landed near Corvus.

No, I don’t know what you mean, argued the old crow.

‘Well, OK, you call yourself Corvus, but why have you come here?" said the other crow in a lower tone of voice.

Oh, you wish to know why I am here, responded the old bird. "I will gladly tell you.

Good, said the other crow.

A few days flight from here, and to the left of the Rising Light, there is a very large body of water. Across it, there is a sizable island, dotted with lakes, bluffs, and many northern trees. Near the center of the island, I had a favorite evergreen that stood near the edge of a lake. That was my home before I came here. It is a nice spot. Someday, I may return to it.

Even though I was born on the island, it was the darkness of the frozen period that displeased me. I had often thought of following the summer birds to their other homes to the right of the Rising Light each cool season. But I was always discouraged by the thought of getting lost if I were to lose them. So, well into my middle years I continued to tolerate the darkness of the cold period.

One day, while dreaming in my favorite tree, another landed near me. It was Hazard Hawk. He was of no danger to me. We were friends. His father had found my home tree for me.

Corvus, he asked. I heard that you have been thinking about the lands far to the right of the Rising Light. Don’t you like the tree my father had chosen for you?

Oh yes. This spot is very nice, answered the crow. It’s the length of the darkness during the frozen period that displeases me.

Well, I can’t shorten the length of the darkness during the cold times. Only the Maker can do that.

True, commented Corvus.

But, I can suggest something to you, said Hazard.

Please do, pleaded Corvus.

Go now to these places of longer light. If you like what you find, then stay. If not, this tree will be waiting for your return. I will see to that. We, here, in this region will miss you, especially during the cold and dark period.

‘Wait, wait, Hazard. I can’t just spread my wings and leave. I have