Crow

This morning, I hurt my back. This has regularly happened for over 25 years, often when seasons are changing or I've been doing a lot of lifting, and maybe not enough sleep. Those are all reasons I'll confess for today's pain. And, bad posture when sitting in bed this morning.

So, my morning was spent in pain, icing my lower back and trying to find the right position to not cause it to spasm and pulse in pain. Getting up off the floor is harsh, but I sit on the floor to eat, etc. So, living is part of a painful morning.

But, riding a bike isn't painful. The balance of hands braced on the bars and my butt braced on the seat makes riding my fast black bike no problem.

So, today I rode into Shinsaibashi to have coffee and chat about poetry. I took my favorite route through an old narrow back street that is usually free of traffic--as it was today.

On the far side of the back street, there is a series of two short-cut narrow alleys behind some warehouses related to the nearby wholesale vegetable market: cardboard boxes, import/export company, truck repair garages and even a somewhat famous Osaka's Cheapest Vending Machine area, where you can buy a drink for ¥10. The only catch is you don't know what the drink will be. And, it will probably not be cold. The machines have been custom redesigned to promote their mystery, with no sample items shown. Instead, there are gold question marks above all of the buttons. Buying questions. The owners even have a propped-up colorfully painted question mark with a space cut out for your face if you want to take a commemorative photo to remember spending ¥10 as kind of an offering towards luck.

Anyway, I rode through the first diagonally cutting alleyway, and as I crossed the larger street I saw a black form on the road at the entrance of the second. I thought it was a black trash bag, but it turned out to be a dead crow.

I realized it was a crow as I got closer, and rode by. But, then I felt an urge to take a picture of it. As I passed it, I noticed the beautiful dark blueish and purple hues of its feathers. I first noticed that crows are not actually black maybe about 10 years ago when I saw some flying beneath me as I stood on a moat ledge at Osaka Castle Park.

I returned to the dead crow and parked my bike, being careful of my back pain as I walked over. The crow looked dead, but I wasn't sure. It looked so full of life still, so filled with an energy that had not begun to leak away from its body yet. It was dead, but still had something that a more dead crow would be lacking. It was vibrant. It wasn't simply an object yet. It still had whatever beings have which makes them unpredictable and knots of will. So, I acutely felt different degrees of caution as I approached the crow's body with my camera. Its posture was beautifully folded and relaxed, its curved black bill clearly something that should be respected.

I took about five pictures of it from different angles and the whole time I felt a strong feeling that I should pick it up and move it to a place away from the flow of any cars or bikes that might move through, to keep it from being run over and broken. But, I didn't move it. I was too afraid to touch it, fearing that it had some disease or insects in its feathers. I feel a degree of shame for not moving it and giving its body a location of some temporary peace.

Thinking about that, I am reminded of the day that George W. Bush started the second American war in Iraq. On that day, I was going to a super market in Osaka and as I approached the bike parking area, I heard the sound of electrical wires zapping. Then, suddenly, a pigeon fell lifeless to the road. It, like the crow, was still so full of energy while also being dead. I was surprised, but didn't think much about it. But, as stood there, an elderly woman who was also on her way to the super market, stopped and approach the dead pigeon. She stooped over and picked it up with her bare hands. There was a large wire trash can with a vinyl plastic bag inside close to where the pigeon had landed. I assumed she would drop the bird into the trash, but instead she carried it over and carefully placed it on a grey concrete block that was there. It felt clearly like she had chosen to honor the bird with that simple bier of respect, not wasting a life that had until recently been unknown to her.