I am friends with my neighbourhood crows. They visit my window. They say hello when I go for a walk. Once they met me at the False Creek Ferry at the Aquatic Centre and followed me home, west along the seawall, to my apartment close to Stanley Park.
The other day I came across a dead crow (just across the street from my building). Laid out in the grass and encircled by rose petals. I thanked the crow. Was it one of my friends who visit daily? I thanked whoever had laid it out so beautifully. And I have carried the image with me, knowing I needed to sketch it in order to move forward more fully into my next chapter. A beckoning from the other side.
So I began to sketch. As a journal entry.
And Beckett’s words came to mind:
Was it ever over and done with questions? Dead the whole brood no sooner hatched. Long before. In the egg. Long before. Over and done with answering. With not being able. With not being able not to want to know. With not being able. No. Never. A dream. Question answered. – Samuel Beckett, Ill Seen Ill Said
The familiar cycle of questioning, inquiring, seeking understanding in the unanswerable…
