Yesterday I went out to the Sonoma coast to return some stones, feathers, and seashells to the wild. Like the hawk leg I told of burying (see Bless the Birds, February 2, 2012), these were among the items on the shelves of sacreds belonging to my friend who died last year.
It came to me to take the stones and feathers to the labyrinth at Shell Beach. This is a natural labyrinth somebody formed in the grasses on the bluff above the Pacific there years ago, and the many people who come to walk it and leave offerings have kept its circling pathways clear ever since. The labyrinth is a memorial as well as a place for prayer and contemplation. Many of the offerings on the center altar and on the mounds between the pathways are for those who have passed on, and I’m sure many people have walked it in grief. There is a comfort in tracing the path with wild nature all around—vast open sky, boundless ocean, cold wind or gentle breeze, depending on the time of year. The altar at the center of the labyrinth arose naturally as people left their prayer offerings or gifts to departed ones—coins, marbles, tiny dolls, a little treasure chest, photos, cards, carvings, stones, and shells.
I laid the many rocks in my basket on the altar and mounds, thinking of my friend as I placed each one. Next, the feathers. As I was poking each one into the ground, a crow came to sit on a nearby fencepost. Huge and jet black, he may even have been a raven. The message crow carries is often a reminder to let go of the past. In this case, I believe the crow was there to honor my friend and the return of the bird sacreds. The crow stayed the entire time I placed the feathers, which took quite awhile. There were so many feathers from birds of all kinds—peacock, turkey, crow, hawk, seabird, and many I didn’t know. When I was finished, the crow flew away.
Feathers and stones returned, I headed down the trail that runs atop the bluffs, one of my favorite walks. I went to where I usually go to return seashells that have arrived into my life, a remote beach that has no easy access. I like to give the shells time to enjoy their natural habitat again before another human picks them up. Down on the beach, I climbed a craggy rock jutting out of the churning water. I thought briefly of the sleeper waves that pluck people off the rocks and beaches of the Sonoma coast and I watched the waves crashing against my rock. They were far enough below me that I didn’t get wet, but close enough to grab me if one turned out to be a sleeper wave. I thought it best to hurry the ritual of return. A movement drew my eye to the right. There was a crow, perched atop the craggy rock next to mine. Was it the same bird? Again, the crow stayed the whole time I threw the shells as far as I could out over the water. I was warmed by watching the return of the shells to their beloved element.
The crow and I left together.
