A Raven flies by
In the mid 1990s my late hubby and I would used to go to a little zoo in the middle of Las Vegas that had a few desert animals. One of the cages contained two ravens who loved to have their head scratched.
The tag on the cage said that these two ravens had been hand fed and raised by a professor who had been studying the habits of ravens. I don't know what happened to the professor, but the ravens were tame and caged.
I didn't realize how sad it was to see ravens caged until I saw raven family groups in the desert. The birds are smart, as smart as the large parrots. They bond in family groups and in the winter they flock with other ravens. We used to see them hunt and play. Ravens play. It is funny to watch the young ones try to land on each other.
Ravens have learned to live with humans. They use the long aphalt roads as larders. They leave the road kill there until it has been squashed and dried, and then lift it off the road as jerky. I used to listen to them caw at each other.
In several cultures ravens are death omens. I like the thought that they do not predict death, but that they are messengers, watchers, and tricksters.
So when I see one, I take notice.