...when I was about 9 years old, I was in the back yard doing what little girls in back yards do (probably looking for horned toads), I heard a crow's voice on the air.
As he circled lazily in the blue sky, I jumped up on the top of the metal slide of the swing set and cawed back. He circled closer and I held my arm straight out beside me. I lifted and lowered it as I repeated the sounds of his call. He circled closer, then landed on my outstretched arm.
That was a long time ago... this raven was particularly interested in Stella (the lamb), Little Vulture, and I. The three of us lounged in the hay in the pasture and Raven made sure we knew he was nearby. Eyes closed, I could hear his feathers cut through the breeze not far above my head each time he passed overhead. The memory of when I was young flooded back made me smile.
He settled on an old tree and continued to broadcast his story, the vultures on lower branches not entertained by his intrusion. I suppose I could write many stories about the experience spanning multiple levels. All I know is that his visit brought back a cherished memory and in that, healed me just a little.