The Harbinger of Death and The Herald of Light

Mason's eyes were very telling. Entering his 48th year, his face belied the truth about himself….his life had been hard. Years of being homeless, subjected to the harsh and varying weather conditions, had creased his skin permanently, most notably around his eyes. But his eyes themselves…they were a beautiful hazel, more emerald in color than any other. Like the precious jewel, they shone brightly. And they told a story. A story of his life relaying more information than just that of his mental illness and being homeless as a result. They told the story of a man that has seen and felt things more deeply and passionately than most; a blessing and a curse simultaneously. It has been said that the eyes are the windows to a person's soul. Mason was a prime example of this adage.

Raised by a single mom with one younger sister along for the ride, Mason's childhood seemed exalted. He was a natural at many things. He displayed a gift for artistry early on. He would enter and win drawing contests, much to the chagrin of his younger sister. He was what some would call an empath. In school, he could have fit into any group or clique. Though he was popular, he refused to isolate anyone just because they were not and everyone seemed drawn to him. A graceful athlete, his record at track and field meets was unmatched. He was faster than anyone else in elementary and junior high and always came home with the blue ribbon or the gold medal. He also possessed an aptitude for schoolwork and charming the teachers with his gentle nature.

Still, despite all his many talents, there was an underlying anxiety that he possessed. One that not many knew of, not even his mother. His little sister, Adrian, was the only one that truly knew of this. Only 18 months apart, they were closer than many siblings growing up. Their differences were many. Where he excelled, she did not. She did not have a gift for artistry and was painfully shy. Popularity was not an attainable goal for her to reach in school because of this. She also did not "apply herself", a common sentiment recorded on her report cards by her various teachers. What she did excel at was having a level head and thinking things through. This turned out to be a benefit to her brother. Many a night of their childhood was spent with Mason waking Adrian up in the middle of the night. Riddled with anxiety, usually because of a nightmare, the two would end up talking through the night to help ease his over-wrought mind.

High school changed everything for Mason when he began to experiment with drugs. Perhaps there was something in his natural brain chemistry that was already there and not to be tampered with. Using psychotropic drugs for recreation did not seem to be a boost to his overall well-being. In fact, it was of detriment. Slowly, paranoia and depression took over. Early on, as an adult, it was often written off as a quirk of his. His charm remained and his gift for art bloomed into new loves; poetry and photography. Madness and genius often go hand in hand. The things he wrote of were therapeutic to him but the prose was beautifully disguised as pure genius. The spiraling staircase his mind was descending was easily masked in his personal therapy. The average layman knew not what could be seen by a professional in Mason's art. He was a deeply troubled young man.

Elizabeth, Mason's mother, supported Mason throughout. At her 60th birthday party, a crow outside of her house cawed loudly while Mason was smoking at the curbside. Mason cringed. He couldn't help himself. Crows and ravens held a special significance to him but not in a positive way. They always seemed to be around, screaming their demon cries whenever something bad was about to happen. Though he was wrong about this on many occasions, this was the rare exception. Elizabeth was diagnosed with Stage IV lung cancer shortly after that party and was dead within four months. Mason was devastated.

In the subsequent years after Elizabeth's death, Mason found it increasingly harder to move forward with his life. Depression and paranoia became more him than the beautiful attributes he possessed that made him such a superstar in his early years. The only outlet remained in his art.

Before Mason knew it, he was a shell of his former self. Unable to hold a job for too long, Mason found himself homeless in his mid-forties. The only support he had now was Adrian. Though she lived so far away and could not support him financially as their mother had, they talked frequently. Her level-headedness still had a positive impact on him.

Recent times had been more kind to Mason due to being housed in a shelter for the last six months. He was grateful but he felt like a caged animal most days. The shelter kept track of the inhabitant's whereabouts at all times. Most days, they were only let out for small outings, like doctor visits and quick shopping trips.

During one of these exquisite, rare outings in the early morning hours, the dew on the grass he traversed wetted his thin canvas shoes through. He didn't mind. Though a light mist coursed through the air, the slight chill comforted him. He would never grow accustomed to the sense of claustrophobia he experienced in that shelter. It was in this way that he preferred the sleeping outdoors part of homelessness. Of course, that only applied to perfect weather conditions and not being harassed by the police.

As he walked past the old abandoned drive-in movie theater, he noticed a large nest at the top of one of the screens.

"Wow, I wonder what bird made that nest?" Mason thought to himself.

In response to his internal question, a snowy white bird with brown feathers surrounding her round face came into view. Wings outstretched to ride the soft wind blowing easterly, the beautiful creature landed gracefully inside her twiggy creation. Immediately, she rotated her head to study Mason as he approached. Initially thinking she was scrutinizing him to ensure he was no threat to her eggs, he noticed a gentle inquisitiveness to her head movements. Something was soothing and familiar about her.

His internal dialogue continued. "That's not something you see every day", he said to himself, truly in awe at what he was seeing.

He knew that owls were nocturnal by nature. Though the day was young, owls were never around for him to witness. In fact, as he did a quick inventory of his life events, he could not recall whether he had ever actually seen one in nature. Especially not in a heavily urbanized area such as this.

Suddenly, the caw of a solitary raven trumpeted in the air, seemingly coming from a tree adjacent to the drive-in. Already, chills were running through his spine as an automated response to the very recognizable sound he loathed so much.

"Now that IS something I see every day," his thoughts synchronizing with a simultaneous head jerk to his left to identify the guilty party. And there it was. A rather large example of its species, the dark feathers making it easily identifiable as it perched on the outer edge of a branch against the light blue sky. Mason was at least fifty feet away but given its size and position, it was not difficult to follow its gaze. It had watched the mother owl soar into her nest and responded in the only manner to which a raven was accustomed. Simply as a harbinger of death. Mason intuitively knew what its beady little eyes were staring at and what it greedily longed for. Those eggs! His eyes began jetting back and forth around the surrounding trees because he knew that ravens traveled in flocks. Where one existed, surely more were close by and that would spell danger for that mama owl and her eggs. Try as he might, no others were around to be found. The raven cawed several more times as if to prove to Mason that it was indeed the lone figure perched in that tree.

And then the tone of its cries changed dramatically into something Mason had never heard a crow or raven do. It began twittering in a soft yet melodic tone than that of its caws. The sound emanating from its beak was surprisingly sweet-sounding. It disappeared out of sight but Mason remained rooted to the spot he had stopped at when he first witnessed the majestic barn owl. He was invested and he had to know the outcome in this possible life and death scenario. He knew that ravens and owls were natural enemies.

What happened next could not have been more of a surprise to Mason, then if an innocent jogger ran by and decided to punch Mason square in the jaw. The raven reappeared with something in its mouth and gently flew to the edge of the large nest perched upon that movie screen. In response, the owl displayed the same calm demeanor that she had given when it inquisitively watched Mason earlier. Shocked that her response was not one of alarm, Mason continued to watch the pair, still expecting to see a death dance ensue.

The surprises kept coming. What Mason witnessed next he could only regard as a true miracle. The raven hopped over to the Mama owl and gently placed an offering to her, a carcass of a small rodent it had found. What astounded him more was her response to this gift. Changing her hoots to some softer cooing, the owl allowed the raven even closer. The raven affectionately placed his beak against the owl's billowy feathers in what Mason would describe as a brief snuggle for the pair. The twittering of the raven picked back up against the backdrop of the owl's soft coos and Mason's jaw, figuratively, dropped to the floor. The raven, having done what it came to do, flew off into the sky and Mason tracked the raven's silhouette until it no longer could be seen.

Not many might even take notice of such events. Mason, on the other hand, saw it as a gift. He knew what that feeling of familiarity was when he appraised that owl. It was a sign from Elizabeth, his mother. Much like an owl in character, she was not known for a soft side but she knew how to care for her family. In doing so, that was her way of proving her love. Elizabeth was a herald of light for Mason. Seeing a raven have the ability to display such an act of compassion when it went against his nature changed something within Mason. He no longer viewed the world so narrowly through the lens he created.

His mental illness had defined his entire adult life but this was to be no more. He knew he was more than what the world had made him out to be, just like that raven turned out to be more than what Mason thought it to be. The raven became his new symbol of hope instead of ominous misfortune.

Adrian had talked to him about helping her in her new business venture by using his gift for writing and designing. He had said he would do it but never followed through. This was his turning point. No more excuses. It became a successful business because perseverance was his new mantra. Mason lived a good life from that moment on. Not a charmed one but one of realism and asking for help. He turned his sorrows and used his natural charm to help others to fight the stigma of mental illness and homelessness. And it was all because of an owl and a crow.