Black, majestic, with the bluish, opalescent shine off the sun. The bluster of wind, the soft down of the feather, the impossible freedom of being alight in an empty sky.
Even perched atop a lonely tree. Alone on a hilltop, overlooking an empty valley. Dominion over sky’s reach, bird’s eye view.
Black of feather, black of night.
Omen, teacher, watcher, hunter.
To be so small, to ride on ravens’ wings, to see a vast world and erase bounds, may be to learn the lesson of rivers and valleys, which know no maps.
An emerging author from Northern California, fiction's my first love. I've written everything from bone-chilling horror to science fiction misadventures, bellyaching humor to thrilling fantasy, and every colorful dot in between.
I've been lost in Europe, been a 6' 4” glorified street acrobat, /technically/ transported explosives internationally (just that one time), and DJ'd a wedding or two. Now I get to write a bunch of squiggles.
View all posts by Evan A Davis
The Light of Day 