Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door –
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door –
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Edgar Allan Poe ‘The Raven” 1845
Perched he was, together with his raven feathered mistress, high above me on top of the Wrigley Memorial on Catalina Island.
Ravens mate for life, but comes mating season the male has to bring the female presents of twigs and branches to repair last year’s nest. These two were apparently in the midst of preparing to raise a new family, because that was how I discovered them – the male came flying in with a particularly nice small branch. Once he sat on the ledge I noticed that it was indeed a raven; when sitting still their long throat feathers flutter in the wind, which makes these birds easily distinguishable from crows.
After some arranging of the new addition to the abode, high up on the memorial, the male raven took off again; maybe Madame was not yet satisfied.
Apparently the time of perching and sitting and saying nothing more is still a way off for this particular member of the species; his mate seems to keep him busy.