The Ravens Call
I heard him before I saw him—a low, guttural croak that sent a shiver down my spine. Turning, I caught a glimpse of glossy black feathers as the raven landed behind me, its eyes glinting like polished obsidian. With a single, mocking call, it took flight, soaring into the endless blue sky, leaving me alone with the echo of its voice. My grandfather, a lost son of the Cherokee nation, used to speak of the raven as if it were more than a bird—a mysterious shape-shifter, a trickster not to be pursued. His stories, told by firelight, wove a tapestry of awe and caution, his voice low as if the raven might overhear.
To the Cherokee, the raven is a messenger, carrying the voices of ancestors across the veil. The Navajo, too, speak of ravens guiding lost souls, but their tales come with a warning: follow a raven too far, and you may cross into the spirit world, where time unravels and the air hums with voices that linger in your bones. One misstep, and you might never return to the living realm. Grandpa once told of a hunter who chased a raven’s call through a foggy woodland, only to find his shadow walking beside him, no longer tethered to his form. That story stayed with me, a quiet chill in the back of my mind.
The elders say when a raven perches, silent and staring, its gaze heavy with knowing, you must leave an offering—cornmeal, tobacco, a whispered prayer. For the raven does not forget, its memory as long as the rivers that carve the earth. Ignore it, and you risk its wrath. Its wings, they say, can cast a shadow that swallows you whole, drawing you into a realm where light fades and the world feels wrong. My grandfather warned of a woman who scoffed at a raven’s stare, only to vanish into the night, her footprints ending where the bird had perched.
Do I believe these tales? No, not in the way the elders did. I’m a man of reason, more at home with my Sony A7Cii than with spirits and shadows. But standing there, the raven’s croak still ringing in my ears, I felt something—an unease, a pull, like the bird knew more than I ever would. Respect it, I say. Leave it be. Offer a nod to its mystery and walk away. The raven doesn’t need your belief to hold its power; it demands only that you don’t tempt its gaze.
Shot on the Sony A7Cii with a vintage Minolta lens, capturing the fleeting moment that raven pierced the silence. The photograph is raw, like the stories themselves. What do you think? Ever felt a raven’s eyes on you, or heard its call in the quiet? Share your stories below. #Sony #A7Cii #Minolta #Konica #RavenTales
