a myth told by Raven
Part 1
Being a scavenger allows me to spend much of
my time surfing the air currents, watching over these dunes. Have you
ever surfed the air? It's a remarkable thing to feel the wind through
your feathers. I've been surfing the air around these parts for many,
many years now. Winds from the southwest and breezes from the east make
invisible air ripples over the dunes. I can surf them for hours with
only a few flaps of my wings. CAW!
CAW! CAW! What do I like to eat? Oh, I love whatever
is available on the ground around these dunes. Coyote scraps are good
and so are camel crickets. But I really love those June beetles when
they begin their night dance in July. In the morning, the ones that
came to pass are strewn within the troughs of sand ripples. Boy, those
sure are tasty treats.
Even though I'm often looking for food as I fly
over the dunes, I'm also keeping an eye on things as the dune caretaker,
you know. The history of these dunes has been passed down from raven
to raven. I've overheard many people puzzle over why the dunes are here,
but I know the whole story. My father told me just as his father told
him and just as I am about to tell you.
It
began ages ago. And in fact, it was my ancient ancestors who helped
the first dunes get here.
My ancestors once wore brilliant white patches on their wings; some
said they glowed. They were nocturnal ravens and the other animals called
them the White-wings. Their wing patterns shone like twin stars in the
night sky.
