The Raven from the Traffic Island

The brake lights in front of me sprawled all the way to the horizon, resembling a myriad of pin pricks. Stopped in a traffic jam, I noticed an odd-looking raven walking along a traffic island. Its wings and tail abounded with healthy, shiny feathers but its head and chest were faded and tattered. When its gaze met mine, it hopped over to my car, flew in through the rear window, and settled into the seat next to me. The traffic crawled on. Sometimes the bird would turn his eyes to me and they glimmered in the blinding white light, until I decided to remove my sunglasses and install them on the raven’s eyes. When we exited the snarl, the bird leapt onto my shoulder and attempted to feed me a live worm he held in his beak. I turned my face away in disgust but he kept trying to put the wriggling insect in my mouth. We sped past a sign warning of a narrow right shoulder. Under the bridge, the car swerved and its right side hit the tunnel wall such that the side-view mirror and the entire rear door were wrenched off as we drove. I shooed the raven and it flew out the gaping doorway, still wearing my sunglasses. Upon looking back at the road I beheld a line of cars driving quickly toward me, honking. I was going in the right direction, while they were all in the wrong.