upon the voices of Family Black

It was their calling I noticed first. A hearing. A sound, a cawing as if with some familiarity. Perhaps they were cousins to Ebony, Ash and Midnight — offspring of my corvid friends Onyx and Obsidian, denizens of the tree temples that mark the southeastern corner of Fort Mason, where Bay meets Van Ness. Some years ago now, I would take to stopping there to listen with them, perhaps to learn their Ravenish or Crowish lingo, as I'd bring ho'okupu of pine nuts, and peanuts-in-the-shell. It would always delight me to see them take the latter and bury them in precise locations nearby, surely to forage upon later on. It was when I learned of these creatures' phenomenal accounting of space and what must be their protean memories of it. Months would pass, and whenever I would pass along their home range at that corner, they would recognize me, deep night or brightest day, no matter what I was wearing, cawing at me with what I could only infer as delight. I'd kraa back, having learned a few of…