Interpretations 



years or not, they act as record-keepers for 

 him who loves an outing. The warm wind, the 

 excited birds, the softer tone in the tall pine- 

 tree's top; only now the velvet glove and no 

 suspicion of the iron hand. The crows inter- 

 pret the significance of the day and I take my 

 cue from them. An unwise interpretation and 

 a lowering of man to a bird's level, it is as- 

 serted, but the day is more attractive because 

 of it all. It is the part of wisdom to play the 

 fool upon occasion, if doing as I have done, is 

 to play the fool. 



I love the cawing of the crow because it gives 

 rise to reminiscence. The cries of this bird 

 were a childish wonder more than half a cen- 

 tury ago. I strove even then to encompass 

 their meaning and from that day until now, and 

 the half century gone, I am still in the dark. 

 Corvine literature covers many pages. As a 

 whole, it reminds me of the mocker nut. There 

 is an almost unbreakable shell and supposedly 

 a kernel of the sweetest meat. As yet, only my 

 fingers have been cut by the jagged edges of the 

 broken cover. It is but a step, happily, from 

 the book to the bird. I say, happily, for it is 

 from darkness unto light. Under the open sky, 



129 



