Just a few days ago, on a random Sunday morning, I saw something that had me deep in thought for the rest of the day. Frankly, I still keep thinking about it, proven by the fact that I find myself writing about it now.
I was at the cafeteria with two friends. It was barely past noon, and we sat at a booth. The large window overlooked the snow-covered campus, and I couldn’t help but stare out as my friends and I lightly chatted about our upcoming week. It was a slow morning. I didn’t feel very talkative quite yet; I was already in a pensive, daydreamy mood. As I absentmindedly listened to my friends discussing their plans for the day, my gaze focused on two dark forms huddled together in a tree: crows.
What was so interesting about those two crows? Not much, to be honest, although I must admit, I do sometimes like to think of myself as a poet, and poets always seem to dig just a little bit deeper, lifting a sort of veil between what is and what could be. Just like William Carlos Williams had phrased it, “Poets are damned but they are not blind, they see with the eyes of angels.”
After the sight–which I will describe in just a moment, patience–I pulled out my phone and quickly typed out what I had seen. The rushed writing ended in a little passage describing the event:
“i saw two crows this morning. they were dark against the snow as they sat on a tree branch. they were sitting eerily still, moving only barely to stroke each others’ beaks. the gesture almost seemed tender to my human eyes. i watched them for a minute, in a sort of trance. they were lovely, the two of them, alone in that tree. everything was still except for them, only a small shared gesture breaking the stillness in the air. suddenly, one spread its wings and flew away, landing in the snow away from the tree. my heart felt heavy for a moment. i continued watching as the other crow sat there, unmoving. when i had made up my mind to turn away, it also flew down, joining the first. they started stroking each others’ beaks once more. they stood there for a few minutes. the first flew away again once more, now nestled between the branches of another tree. after a few moments, the second one joined it again. it seemed like a ritual of sorts. i stood there at the window, watching the two birds fly from place to place, always joining each other. every time one flew away, i grew scared the other wouldn’t follow. but it always did. and as i sat there, watching their dance, i asked myself, ‘would you wait for me? would you follow me? like those crows?’”
As I’ve already mentioned, I pondered about the sight for quite a while. I wanted to capture those feelings, to voice them in a way that was deep and moving and beautiful. At first, I attempted to write a poem about the sight, then a short story. Those attempts now lie abandoned in half-finished documents and on random pieces of paper torn from notebooks. Nothing really seemed to capture exactly what I had felt, except for the short passage I had quickly written down in my notes app.
As I kept thinking about what I had seen, I realized that my short-lived experience could only truly and rawly be captured through my little “brain dump.” It is no art piece, to be sure, just hurried typing in between mouthfuls. Even so, I believe that there is still something beautiful about having an epiphany over breakfast on a usual Sunday morning while watching two beautiful black birds at play.
The Student Movement is the official student newspaper of Andrews University. Opinions expressed in the Student Movement are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the editors, Andrews University or the Seventh-day Adventist church.