Ordinary Days

Some days there are no ravens.

Most days really. And there are no spare minutes to go swanning off after bluebirds.

There are days that are just endless paper jamming — waiting on hold — stuck in traffic — number crunching — brain numbing — is it over yet? — sorts of days.

At these times you need crows. And rust. And weeds growing in cracks in the asphalt.

Barkerville Rust

Rumpled Morning Visitor

Alleyway Flora

The beauty of crows is …

Ah well, there are so many things that are beautiful about crows …

Style Crows

OK, let’s just say that one of the great things about crows is that, here in Vancouver at least, there is almost always one handy to distract you for a moment.

Antenna Crow

Even when you’re stuck in traffic, waiting for that freight train to budge, or the log jam of cars to clear, you can almost always catch a glimpse of a crow or two doing something interesting and/or silly within view. The trick is not to get too interested so you miss when the traffic starts to move.

Crow Debate on Wires

 

Vancouver Blue Bird

Sometimes a crow in the right light can be the perfect substitute for a Mountain Bluebird — Vancouver’s very own bluebird of happiness.

No matter how rushed and boring a day, there’s usually at least time for a ten minute walk outside.

And, if you look a little bit sideways, put your eyes out of focus a little, you can find beautiful things almost anywhere.

Dandelion Clock


“There are things you can’t reach. But
you can reach out to them, and all day long.

….

I look; morning to night I am never done with looking.

Looking I mean not just standing around, but standing around
as though with your arms open.”

From — Where Does the Temple Begin, Where Does It End?
–by Mary Oliver


Pender St Smithrite

Smithrite with awesome graffiti, including (in elegant script) the word “knit.”

Flowering Quince

Flowering quince in evening light against a the side of peeling set of concrete stairs.

Blue and Green

If you can’t get to the woods, sometimes a miniature horsetail forest will do.

Of course, there are days much worse than the paper jam days.

There are days when you’re in pain. Days when you receive very bad news.

Days when you feel as if you are nothing more than a hollow conduit for an endless river of sadness.

In The Wind

I’ve had days like those too, and ordinary, or even extraordinary,  beauty alone would not do the trick.

But it’s always been there, part of the healing recipe of family, friends, doctors, medicine, therapy and time.

Crows, rust, weeds, poetry, clouds, trees, the sound of wind, bird calls, snippets of graffiti, lichen, peeling paint, the occasional raven or mountain bluebird — they all seem like the dots and dashes of a distant morse code message.

The meaning is alway just out of reach, but it gives purpose to each day to attempt the translation.

Dandelion Seeds


This is a sequel to the previous post, Special Days.

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In Defence of the Commonplace

The Gift

Collecting Hidden Beauty

Owls, Crows, Rooks and Poetry

Occasionally the most ordinary of days is transformed out of all recognition.

It started with a dawn trip downtown for an early morning physiotherapy appointment (tennis elbow: even less fun that it sounds).

Post-appointment I popped into the Vancouver Art Gallery to drop off one of my bracelets, ordered by the gift shop. It was still so early that the gallery wasn’t open yet, but my friend was there so we went out for a quick coffee. Already the day was on the upswing!

After coffee, I decided to go back once again to the gallery with her to take a photo of my work on display in the shop. As we reached the entrance it was hard to miss the massive crow commotion going on in the tree just outside. My friend immediately guessed it was the barred owl that she’d seen several times over the years, usually in the evening. I guess this time the owl had pulled an all-nighter, because there she was, high in the tree, with about two dozen crows flapping around and cawing furiously.

Crow-owl stand-off.

Crow-owl stand-off.

 

Quite a large owl with big, soulful eyes, she was a breath-taking sight and not at all something you expect to find in downtown Vancouver on a Friday morning. Miraculously having my camera with me, all other plans for the day were put on hold.

Barred Owl at VAG

Barred owl on branch

The crows came and went … and came back again. The initial twenty or so dwindled to a skeleton crew of two dedicated owl harassers. For about 15 minutes even they left and all was quiet. Then they were back and the furious cawing resumed. Mostly the owl was able to ignore the hullaballoo and, secure in a particularly dense part of the tree, she seemed to nod off for a while. Then a crow would get too close and she’d make a lunge for it. Crows would explode from all sides of the tree. The owl would relocate to another branch and the game resumed.

The owl finally found a spot where the crows couldn't get too close.

The owl finally found a spot where the crows couldn’t get too close.

The Barred owl attempts to get some shut-eye in spite of the crow racket.

The Barred owl attempts to get some shut-eye in spite of the crow racket.

During the course of this I spoke to many people who were curious about the goings on – a couple who came equipped with binoculars, people who worked in the gallery, tourists, school children going in to see a show, a nice man from Ireland. Opinions were exchanged, stories told.

The Irish gentleman had a particularly memorable corvid tale. Back in Ireland, his aunt lived in a cottage close by a rookery. The rooks were very noisy and she tried to get rid of them by smoking them out – and in so doing, burned her own house down. The ultimate in “why you shouldn’t be mean to crows” stories.

Then a woman came to join the conversation and I noticed she was wearing one of my pendants. I commented on that and it turned out that she has several of my pieces and is a poet. She told me that she loves crows. We exchanged cards. Her name is Daniela Elza and her newest collection, milk tooth bane bone, explores her fascination with crows. I have just read a wonderful review of it here. I am seeking a copy immediately!

She also has a wonderful blog called Strange Places.

So, it was a day of multiple wonders – owls, crows, rook stories and poetry. Who could ask for more!

An hour of looking up into the high, high tree branches has left me in need of a new string of physio appointments, but so worth it.

Barred owl and tree trunk

Looking down