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Sunday, September 21, 2008

More Crows

Crows again? Yes, crows again.


Walking in High Park on the first day of March, I was contemplating how un-connected I am. How I want a sign, a Sign, from the Universe that I'm in the right place, doing the right thing. I want some signal, please, to keep me on the journey.


Now isn't that always my way? Always I'm looking for the Epiphany. Always I want to be reassured that things are moving as they should be. And what right do I have to expect a sign just for me? None, of course.


Ever since the Toronto outbreak of West Nile disease, a mosquito-borne virus that killed many birds and also affected humans—ever since then, there have been no crows in the High Park area. A big flock of crows used to frequent our neighborhood and would greet me when I left the house, accompany me as I walked through the park. But for the last two years, nothing. My life has been crow-less. I know that they still exist, because friends who live north of Toronto report seeing flocks of them regularly. But they haven't come back to my area, and I miss them.


So as I was walking in High Park on March 1, whinging and complaining as usual about not being able to connect, I was interrupted in my grousing by the sound of crows. I was astonished. Crows in High Park again! At last they were back.


And the next thing I knew, there were two crows just above the trees off to my left. I heard them first, then looked up and couldn't believe my eyes. Two very large crows, calling to each other (to me?) and wheeling, wheeling, playing above the treetops amid the light snow, two crows back-and-forthing until they were sure I had seen them, sure that I got the message. And then poof! They were off to the north, still calling. Still wanting to make sure that I got the message.


Six weeks later I still hadn't seen another crow. But I did get the message.



Copyright 2008 Ann Tudor

Sunday, September 14, 2008

Dance with the Dolly

 Eight homemade paper dolls, holding hands, dressed to the nines, balancing on my table. My favorite of all has a swell to the belly. She wears tights with a different design on each leg, and a little black dress. The dress is unassuming, but its skirt flips out to the other side, already dancing to a rhythm we can't hear. Multicolored hair scraggles down beside her face, as if she forgot to care. But that doesn't matter because her little black dress, swinging with joy and movement, reminds me that that's all we need in life: joy and movement. Plus love, of course.


When I become queen, the children will be taught love, joy, movement, poetry, art, and the music of the soul.


And this dancing dolly will be part of it all: we'll dance to our own beat, our own rhythm, feet on the ground, bare feet on the solid dirt, feeling them extend into the earth, feeling them connect with where we are, where we came from. We'll dance until we can't dance any more. That little black dress isn't essential, but we'll all wear something that swings, because even a three-year-old knows the joy of twirling in a dress that swirls around her legs.

Copyright 2008 Ann Tudor