It is pouring rain in Oregon this afternoon, the leaves have all gone gold and the mountains are all awash in mist . . . over the top of the sound of the storm, the splash of the rain and the wind sighing hugely through the pines . . . I can hear the crows calling from tree to tree . . .
Edwina Peterson Cross.

Work of
Edwina Peterson Cross


What's In A Name?
Edwina Peterson Cross - Artist
Golden Seed Grove - Aspen
Golden Seed Grove -Elements
Golden Seed Grove - The Piper
Ancient Tree Wisdom
Creative Principles
Twentieth Century Sun Worship
These I Have Loved
Polishing Diamonds
Germanic Tradition Soul Food
Lemurian Poetry Corner
Sandpainting
Ashland Lights
The Tale
The Moonlit Water Garden
Lemurian Women's Dance
Surrealism - A Collection
Beyond the Looking Glass
Bears in The Wood
Narnian Cookbook
Artist Party
Tree Day

 

Corvidophilia (The Love of Ravens)

Gray rain whips the world with wind
The mountains are white, awash in mist
Above the sound of the howling storm -
The moaning of the pines, the wailing of the weather -
The ravens can still be heard calling
From treetop, to treetop; barren and clear
The sound of hollow wet bone

Do you wake up drinking darkness,
That your eye should be so black, so black
Ebony, pitch, shining like sharply cut jet
Polished to an acid edge with purpose
What do you see? What knowledge do you keep
In the darkness of that black, black eye?

They say you are a trickster, but it is wisdom
I feel behind the dipped ink of your gaze
Insight, creation, what all I will never know
For you hood yourself with a slow blink
Mystery bird the shade of nightwind
Lady of secrets, enigma on wings
You will not be known

They will find your feathers
In places you have never been
Could these be amulets, charms, sliced from the midnight sky?
Cut out with the sharpest, burning, knifewhite stars
Dusted with a silent mist of moon?
Wherever they have come from
They tumble to earth in the simple shape and seeming of
Raven feathers
But they carry this strong corvidae blessing:
Shadow wings stretch as a shield above you
Sharp, onyx eyes watch as a ward over you
Constant
Unblinking
Blessed Be

And You . . .
Nature’s wanton riddle wrapped in ebony
You still sail the treetops
As black as the memory of every darkness
Missing a tail feather here and there . . .
With a cry that sounds like it will tear your throat
You alight on a branch too slender

As it breaks beneath you . . .
Your secrets splash against the sky

Black eyes blaze brilliant with
Laughter . . .
As the wild wind catches your widespread
Wings . . .

Edwina Peterson Cross October 19, 2004