Alyce M. Nielson
The raven walked up the handrail to where he would hop onto the low
branch of the tree. He turned around, cocked his head, then looked at
me. A drop of rain fell on his beak. He shook it off and then he glanced
toward the sea. A wall of rain was coming our way so he walked deeper
into the tree. Me? I got as wet as I could be.