Notes #56 | The Little Mysteries of Life

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I remember one time when I was walking down the street minding my own business. There was just me, the path, and a world that existed outside of my thoughts. And I wasn't particularly in the mood to interact with that world.

Perhaps sensing my mood, a physical manifestation of balance to keep the scales from tipping too far, a crow emerged from the nothingness, and into my somethingness. Into my little bubble.

He landed on the path in front of me, and left a trinket. A little gift from crow to human. He pointed his beak to it, nodding his head, perhaps as a request to receive his gift. I walked over, tentatively, watching the crow, and watching his little offering laid out on the ground. I picked it up and studied it. A piece of twine, with a little plastic bead tied in the middle. I had no need for such an item, but deep down inside of me I knew I had a need for the gesture. This crow knows things, I thought. He senses what no one else can. How is that possible?

I looked back to Mr Crow (as I started to call him, although I did assume his gender, so for story telling purposes bear with me), unsure of what to say. I mean normally you say thank you when offered a gift, but this was unique territory for me. I didn't want to disappoint.

"Thank you," I finally said, unable to come up with something more befitting the grand moment that it was. Mr Crow hopped from one foot to the next. I assumed it was a crow gesture of acceptance. "I don't have anything to offer you in return." Perhaps he would accept food, but I had none. I could barely remember to feed myself.

He continued to hop from foot to foot, watching my deliberations with what appeared to be a form of avian curiosity. And as if Mr Crow implanted the thought in my head himself, it occurred to me I did have one gift I could offer. Perhaps he would approve.

"It's not much, but I could offer you my friendship," I said. He looked at me, tilting his head like a little puppy bemused by the foibles of it's owner. "Would that be agreeable to you, Mr Crow?"

He jumped up and down, nodding his approval. We walked down the street, human and crow side by side. Twine and friendship. How did this all come about I wondered? One of life's little mysteries, I suppose.

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Our friendship lasted on and off over the years. A crow needs the support of his fellow crows. That's how these things work, and I understand. But he would drop into my place regularly over the years, to say hello, and bring me more twine. Some plain, some with little beads in them. Mr Crow was a collector it seemed. Thanks to him I became one too.

Eventually Mr Crow stopped making his visits. Perhaps he got old and life turned to death, and he went to the great twine basket in the sky. Perhaps he met Ms Crow and she became Mrs Crow, if that's how things work in the crow world. I think about him from time to time, especially when I see my bowl of twine and other assortments. The gifts from a friend who saw through my blackness, and brought some light. The black crow who chased the black dog away and dropped in from time to time just to make sure it wasn't trying to get back in. He was a perceptive creature.

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I was reminded recently of a story I read many years ago. It was about an older Russian man who befriended a cockroach. He used to share his vodka with it, give him little droplets, whilst the man had his regular drink. Together they would sit over a drink and keep each other company. I wonder at how much of that story stays true to it's original form in my memory, and how much alteration, or interpretation has taken place.

I wonder too at how that friendship evolved over the years. I hope it wasn't like often happens when the elderly have a pet, and if the human passes away first the poor animal is left bewildered and confused by the absence. Could this have happened to the cockroach? Did he turn up one day for their regular drink, and the human was no longer there? No more droplet of vodka between good friends?

Or perhaps the old man outlived the cockroach, and he was left to wonder at what may have occurred? How long do cockroaches tend to live? Not long I assume, especially if they overdo the vodka intake. Did he wander off one day, to do his regular cockroach antics, then fail to make it back? How would the old man have felt, with vodka in hand, but no friend to share it with?

I wonder about these things. I don't know why I wonder about them, but they seem oddly important to me. Life is so full of little mysteries, waiting to be breathed in and absorbed.

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Images sourced from unsplash.com.

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@naquoya

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Links to earlier works

- Fiction
My Fiction Writing Collection
Writing Myself Out of Existence
When the Levee Breaks
Reality Fading
Lessons Learned From a Dying Man - includes audio version.

Book Reviews
The Switch - Elmore Leonard
A Glitch In The World - Alex Drozd
All The Light We Cannot See - Anthony Doerr
Where Epics Fail - Yahia Lababidi
Hellbent - Gregg Hurwitz
1Q84 - Haruki Murakami
Soon - Lois Murphy
The Girl Who Played With Fire - Stieg Larsson
American Gods - Neil Gaiman
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep - Philip K. Dick
The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo - Stieg Larsson
Altered Carbon - Richard Morgan
Fight Club - Chuck Palahniuk
Crooked God Machine - Autumn Christian

Audio Poetry
The Dance of Destiny and Fate
One Day, Just Not Today

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