Prose: The Old Man
Conversation with a Butterly
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I was waiting for my love to return and see me. I was sitting by the sea, perched on a huge cliff. The sun was coming up behind me as I stared out at the horizon. A raven flew by, great and black and loud.

"Why are you sitting there" screeched the raven, as it passed by me.

"Because I do not know what to do, raven" I said.

"Why do you not know what to do?" asked the raven, who circled and glanced out of its eyes in all directions.

"I am in love and I cannot think right" I said.

"If I stand up I want to sit down, if I sit down I want to stand up, if I hold still I want to move, if I move I want to hold still. What kind of thinking is that?" I said to the circling black bird.

"That is not thinking, that is feeling or not feeling well, however you may chose to see it" squealed the great raven as it turned and rose with the wind.

"You see, poor foolish man, how I move with the wind" the taunting raven continued. "That is how you must move with your feelings. You must ride on them. You must let them be or be with them. But most of all, you must not mistake feelings for thoughts. If I were so foolish I would try to control the wind rather than chose my course and elevation within its ever changing currents. I would think that I could, or I would try, by beating my wings to make the wind change or to go against the wind, which for an avian species like me is a really stupid kind of thing to do, particularly in a very high wind. One makes that kind of mistake only once, or maybe twice if they are a little slow at learning like you are."

"Face the facts. You are alone waiting for your love, you do not feel comfortable with the loneliness and fear that she will disappear. Rather than let the discomfort come and go, rather than trust her, you dwell in your discomfort by avoiding it. Your fears hang over you because you cannot simply recognize them for what they are, passing doubts, and ride them like the wind" said the great black bird.

"One would think you would get tired of talking with the animals and the stars and the moon and all the other animate, inanimate and spiritual beings about all this" said the raven "and, besides, it is not clear we are getting anywhere talking to you. I should think it is we, the birds and animals that have the intelligence and you poor soul, given how you act every time your love goes away, have little or none."

"Oh well, I feel the wind rising and talking to you can be very boring compared to soaring with the wind. I have far to go to find a place to rest tonight, being of a rather undomesticated bent I prefer to move around a lot" squawked the raven tilting in the air and hovering for a moment.

"Here I go again" said the raven "see you sometime if I ever pass through here again. You look awfully insignificant from up high, you look awfully foolish from up close. I hope you feel better soon, it is a great day to be flying in this changing wind" cried the raven as he was blown first high and then low across the sky.

As I watched the raucous raven disappear into the distance I sat by the sea, perched on the great cliff. I felt my loves breath in the wind, heard her heart beat in the waves ' saw her beauty and soul in the sea, and felt her presence, her peace in me, for a moment as her love filled the horizon approaching me like a summer storm.

Prose: The Old Man
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Copyright In To It Publishing, T. Steele & W. Davis 1997