Quoth the Raven: "Nevermore!"

If you look up above the curved part at the top of the rose arbor, that is where the robin's nest is. And that is where the materfamilias of the little family of turdi domestici had established their nursery. I had mentioned about them in an earlier blog. We thought they were, as the saying goes, "safe as houses" way up there above the lawn and obscured both below and on top.

Not so secure, it seems. Two days ago we heard huge outcries from the garden, and looked out only to see a huge raven pulling out from what we can only guess was some sort of a bombing run, or at least strafing run on the nest. The outrage robins (Mr. and Mrs.) were in full pursuit of the marauding raven, heedless of size discrepancy.

But, the raven, alas, seems to have prevailed, the thuggish airborne bastard. Oh, the parental robins seemed to be OK, but I guess the next just wasn't as well placed as we thought. We're very disappointed. We liked the idea of the nest in our back garden, in amongst the roses. We welcomed the little family. Hell, we even offered to babysit when the time came.

As big and imposing as they are (like crows on steroids), ravens do not have many redeeming virtues, unfortunately. Poe certainly found them to be frightening, and prophets of death; North Coast Indians refer to the raven as 'the trickster' in their totemism, and found the creature untrustworthy; their cousins the crows detest them, because ravens assail their nests and kill their young; eagles detest them for the same reason, and little birds live in fear of them. Farmers scan their fields for them because ravens, as lovers of shiny objects, will actually try to pluck out the eyes of a springtime lamb or calf.

Ravens and their ways abound in mythologies from many cultures, and they assuredly are imposing avian presences. But, if you want an example of the harshness of nature in the raw, you don't need to look much farther than this particular harbinger of airborne doom

Oh, I wish our neighborhood raven no ill, and I do not yearn for the day that rampant development removes the remaining big trees in which ravens position their handy lookouts. I'd actually miss their odd cries.

At the same time, however, we're really pissed about our resident robins, and only wish the raven had taken off after somebody else's robins. Robins of inferior quality to ours, no doubt.