Send the Raven

"Send the raven,"
I said to the sky,
Thinking all the while
That God was the sky
And the sky was God,
Hoping all the while
That God
Would hear my prayer
And answer it by sending
A sign.
That I would look up
And see a familiar bit of blackness
Beating against the air,
Coming swiftly,
Looking to the right,
Looking to the left,
Eyes fixed on something
That only it could see
And I would never know.



There was, of course,
No sign of the raven.
The sky was but a mass of frigid clouds.
Gray.
Snow falling,
But sporadically,
In light flurries.
Prickly points of coldness
On the face.
A blessing, maybe,
But not a sign.




Leaving the meadow,
I looked behind me
To take note
Of the tramped-out labyrinthine pattern in the snow,
Of the leafless guardian aspens on the hill,
Of the snow-laden tansy taking final bows of submission to the inevitable.



I turned away
And resolutely
Began to trudge the path
Back toward shelter from the cold.
Along the way,
With my question
Sent spinning to God
Still unanswered,
I continued to take its measure,
Weigh its possibilities,
Seek the answer
That eluded me,
"Yes" or "No."



Thus lost in thought
But responding to some disturbance
In the air,
I looked up
To see the raven
Following the road that I was on,
Flying straight,
Coming toward me.
Looking to the right,
Looking to the left,
Eyes fixed on something
That only it could see
And that I would never know.



A sign?
Perhaps.
A coincidence?
Maybe.



But the answer to my question,
"Yes" or "No,"
As yet unresolved.
Still mine to decide.