How would God respond to making a mistake? Would planets collide or mountains slide into the sea? Or would the ledger of all life simply remain out kilter until a series of small events forced that ledger back into balance again? It's probably the l...
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Crow was still sleeping when I woke up. It was a half hour before dawn. In the darkness, I carefully pulled down his collar to check on his neck. It was smooth and colorless. There were no bruises or redness and no orange ribbons. There was nothing to worry about.
For a few minutes, I stood by the door to see if he'd wake up by himself. He had said that he wanted to see the sun rise, but he looked so pretty sleeping that I couldn't wake him. He was turned on his side and bent a little at the waist and knees. A sort of lazy "S" with curled-over hands and a droopy motionless face. He was like a puddle of something partially melted and resting on the bed. A puddle of Crow.
In and around the parking area, the cars and grass were covered with dew. Little streams and streaks of water slid across the doors, hoods, and windshields. At the edge of the area, tufts of stiff green sandgrass had darkened under a coating of dew. It looked like a smooth clear paint untouched by the sun or the moon. I didn't want any of it to change or leave any trace of having been there, so I hopped over the patch of green and onto to the white concrete slabs. When I did, my feet skidded across the surface and made a grinding sound.
shhhhh, I whispered. Crow was still asleep.
In the night, the moon had drifted away from the ocean and moved out over the houses. It was high in the sky and floating in a dark, almost black-blue dome. There was just enough light to see where I was going, but it was still gray and dim. At the top of the ridge toward the east, the sky was pink and a paler shade of blue. Blue first, and then pink as the sun's rays bent around the horizon. To the west, everything was still black with a few bright stars blinking on and off. It was that perfect time of the morning when there are stars on one side of the sky and none on the other. Somewhere in the middle, somewhere near the moon, is where the stars faded into nothing. That's where I was. Exactly in the middle. And it felt good.
When I got to the beach, there were gray clouds over the water. Shapeless curtains of moisture, hiding and twisting the light. And because of the wetness and the knots of clouds, the sun seemed to be rising in 3 places at once. Phantoms skating in and out of the folds of gray. 3 pink (pink) sunrises. All at the same time.
Way off toward the right, a fisherman stood completely still. He was wearing gray overalls and had his fishing rod wedged into the sand. Even though the wind was blowing his straggly hair straight, the man barely moved – his feet anchored like tent poles. He had no choice, you know. The wind was so strong that he had to stand like that or he'd topple over. All the while, sand beat against my shoes and the ocean rumbled like fresh sheets snapped over an unmade bed.
One by one, the phantom sunrises faded. After a couple of minutes, only one of them was left. That one was the true sun, but it was still hidden behind a pink curtain. From out of the curtain, dark birds formed a line flying north. Five of them in an even dotted line that mysteriously formed a hump and then smoothed out again. It was as if each of the birds had glided over the same disturbance in the air. When the last bird passed over the invisible bump, I felt Crow's arms drape around my neck and his head rest against my shoulder.
