Erika Burkhalter shares a personal experience of encountering crows at twilight, reflecting on the transition from safety to vulnerability through a poetic narrative and photography.
Abstract
In "Safer in Silhouette," Erika Burkhalter captures a moment of twilight solitude amidst a multitude of crows, drawing a parallel between the safety of the birds' silhouettes and her own sense of vulnerability. The article is a blend of poetic prose and visual imagery, detailing the author's experience of being enveloped by the crows' presence and the sudden realization of not being the apex predator in the hills, which are known to be roamed by mountain lions. The narrative culminates with an owl's screech and the scurrying of a small creature, juxtaposing fear with the beauty of the natural world. Burkhalter complements her written piece with her own photography and an embedded SoundCloud track, enhancing the multisensory experience of her encounter. She concludes by inviting readers to explore more of her work and consider supporting her and other writers on Medium.
Opinions
The author conveys a sense of awe and unity with nature while observing the crows.
There is an underlying theme of the natural order and the shift from feeling safe to vulnerable as day turns to night.
The author implies that the beauty of the moment is heightened by the presence of potential danger, such as mountain lions.
Burkhalter's use of sensory details in her description of the crows and the environment suggests a deep appreciation for the natural world.
The inclusion of a SoundCloud track indicates a desire to share the ambiance of the experience with her audience.
The author expresses gratitude towards her readers and encourages support for creative work on Medium through subscriptions and memberships.
Burkhalter is open to selling her photography to interested readers, indicating a dual passion for both writing and visual arts.
The air shivered with crows,
black silhouettes inked
against the bleeding sky.
Roosting for the night.
A moist thing gathered,
draping, like a shawl,
around my shoulders.
And I was one, unified, with
the spike of feather, the slice
of beak, the sharp edge of
twilight. The absence of time.
A vacuum of sound flapped
and sucked and echoed, a
throbbing endless hum
pierced
by a screech riding in
on the wings of an owl.
Something shifted.
Small skitters of feet clicked
against the graveled ground,
and I became acutely aware
of no longer being predator,
but now prey.
The crows, they knew that they
were safer in silhouette
this time of day.
I was out just a little too late on my mountain bike the other day and found myself caught in the arms of twilight, just as the crows were coming in to roost. They looked like leaves on trees. They were everywhere. And it got so quiet. Then, there was a moment — I’m sure you’ve felt this somewhere, sometime, before too — when I knew that I was out of my safety zone. Mountain lions roam these hills. Then the owl screeched in. And I heard the scrape of gravel as some small creature darted for cover. And it all coalesced — the crescendo of a bite of fear and the sheer, utter beauty of the moment.
Then I hopped onto my bike and pedaled like crazy towards home.
Erika Burkhalter is a yogi, neurophilosopher, cat-mom, photographer, and lover of travel and nature, spreading her love and amazement for Mother Earth’s glories, one photo, poem or story at a time. (MS Neuropsychology, MA Yoga Studies).
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