As the Crow Flies

A crow flew over my house this morning while I was leaving for work. The little devil had a morsel of food in his beak and his glossy feathers shone like polished obsidian in the slanting rays of the newly risen sun. Some people consider crows a bad omen, but not me. Quite the opposite, I hold them in high regard and to have one fly overhead with his hard-won breakfast in his mouth could be considered a sign of impending prosperity. It's all in how you look at it, I suppose. But at that moment, as I watched him soar through the rich golden sunlight, I wasn't thinking in terms of omens, good or bad. I could only think what a lucky creature he was to have found such a feast, to have wings and a beautiful azure sky as a playground. Share some of your good fortune, little cousin, I thought. And while crows aren't the most magnanimous of creatures, he seemed to acknowledge my plea with the slightest nod of his black-feathered head as he flew away. Even though I knew it was silly, I felt a sense of precognition as I turned my attention back to events on the ground. We can tell ourselves we don't buy any of that superstitious nonsense about portents and signs, but our hearts don't listen to logic. I can't help feeling that maybe, like that fortunate crow, we are due for a little luck.