The Raven

When I opened the blinds this morning to a brilliant sparkling day, I was stunned. There on the corner of the garage roof was an ominous, hulking giant of a raven, black and shiny. The size difference between a crow and a raven is significant, and I've seen both, but I was flabbergasted at what was sitting up there. 

Norbert Kurzka Getty Images

Its black feathers against the bright blue sky were gleaming. It was the biggest raven I've seen, like a large animal up there, a dinosaur, really, which is what a raven is descended from.

I didn't have a camera and I was too startled to take a picture anyway, so these raven shots are not mine. I have to say it looked more like this image below, not streamlined and sleek, but enormous, fluffed up and very, very black.

Kaeli Swift

We mostly see crows in our urban neighborhood. They travel around in groups, are more social, more adapted to humans. We know when a coyote is nearby because the crows will mob it, cawing and making a ruckus. Or an owl. They get upset with the owls.

But ravens are rarer around us. They are mostly solitary and more comfortable in open wild areas. What was this monster looking for on top of my garage?

Raven pair (they mate for life) from Birdfact

I felt unsettled. The oddity of such a large foreboding thing greeting my day left me uneasy, and I could not shake the awful feeling that this was some kind of omen. It's unfair to this very intelligent, amazing bird, but ravens have a long literary history of creating dread wherever they are seen.

They don't bother humans, they are no threat. They're just so . . . menacing.

Here's an interesting comparison of ravens and crows from a birder's specific and detailed perspective.

A crow vs. a raven from Urban Nature Enthusiast
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Helloooo? 
Urban Nature Enthusiast
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