An Unkindness of Ravens (1946)

A short story of the Corbeau Family

This is part of an ensemble of writings, including “Jardin Caprice”, “Among the Strawberries”, “Ghosts and Memories,” and “Synesthesia,” about Genevieve and Cassandra and other members of the Corbeau Family.

An Unkindness of Ravens

There is a deep and solemn purple to the warm summer darkness, and the night is breathless, like me. I inhale deeply, as if there is never, ever, enough fresh air to breathe, like the air can burst my lungs with happy. This sweet solace always finds me here atop the gray eaves of the house, drowning under a panorama of pastel stars.

My disbelief is weak only in the late night, a time when I can believe in elves and Angels and talking ravens and happy-ever-afters. At the very least, the shadows of the night never seem to touch me here. Tonight I’m enjoying a bright-horned moon, as I perch carefully on the slanty rooftop, in the loveliest of my party dresses, black as a pretty raven, holding a large black feather in my hand.

As I await the evening’s potential to blossom into the readiness of an uncertain night, I am befriended by the nightly birds, my very own Unkindness of Ravens. This is what a group of ravens is called, though only because they are so misunderstood. Almost two feet tall they are, intelligent and friendly, not at all unkind. They all perch very close to me, including me in their “unkindness”.

“Bonsoir,” says the white-headed raven.