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Have you ever been in a public place and seen some celebrity... and felt that weird tension where it's almost like you know them, but you realize it's totally a one-way street?

That's how I've felt the last few days, seeing a couple of local ravens.

I know ravens are not that special. But because they're not so much into humans, they don't come around like the crows do. When I see them, I almost want to shout out with joy and try to engage them in some kind of communication. But I have to remind myself that they don't know me and... really... I don't know them, either. I just feel like I do because I've read so much about them.

I doubt I'll ever have a raven landing on my head or hop-flying along with me on walks, like my crows do. But... what a thing to imagine! What a thing to aspire to. For now I'll satisfy myself with smaller corvids. But I'll keep on dreaming of the ravens.

This oak, with its wanton thrusting hip, is always mid-dance. And marks the boundary between two worlds - those with, and those without, artificial lights. I'm still getting to know my new camera so it's helpful to practise on these old familiar scenes to figure out the best exposure times - in the fake light, and in the moonlight, and in the places in between.

While I was shooting this I felt I was being watched. Looked around and saw... in another big oak... a huge cat, lounging on a low-growing branch. He blinked at me, but otherwise stayed completely still. Until, of course, I tried to take his picture. His body stayed intact but he moved his head, darnit. So it's hard to tell if he's domestic or not. At first I assumed yes. But the more I thought about him... his size, his spots, the fabulous ruff around his neck... the more I wondered if maybe he's some kind of wildcat. A bobcat maybe. Sure did LOOK like a bobcat. Guess I'll have to go out and stalk him some more and see if I can't get a better shot with the next bright moon.

Last night, on my way to bed, I looked out at the moon and clouds and just said FUCKIT, I'm going shooting.

Packed on my down-filled parka and strapped on my camera and away I went... into the trees.

It's amazing how instantly the brain can snap from sleepy to wide awake. And how quickly time goes by when you're chasing clouds and stars. By the time I got to the beach... where the tide was out, and the waves were crashing, and the air smelled sweet and green... the moon was way up; I like it better low. And besides, there was (gasp) a human at the beach. So I called it a night. But... man. I need to get off my ass and out that door and do the night-walking thing a lot more frequently. The moon, the stars, the wind, the trees... they're all still there. Just waiting for me to rediscover them.

The more I get to know my crows, the more I love them... and the better I appreciate their one-of-a-kindness. I haven't yet developed the capacity to ID them all individually, and keep track of who's who. But I certainly notice the many many differences in body size, head size, beak shape, personality, etc.

My current fave is a "girl" I've named Lucy - short for Loose Feather, the one feature by which I first identified her. The feather is gone but Lucy's still the star of my life because... several times a day (about 10 times yesterday) she lands... ever so gently and sweetly... on my head.

She's lost the loose feather but I know her now. And few things thrill me like the feeling of her corvidy feet pushing off from the top of my head, and the sight of her special crooked floating landings that ensure I've noticed and rewarded her. Then there are the other "specials" in my crew... like Eye Wart who has a growth near his left eye, and Splotch, who has a patch of white feathers on his back, and Fuzz who... for some reason... seems to have an extra layer of underfeathers that never quite tuck neatly under his overfeathers.

Then, of course, there's the sense of elation that comes to me each morning as I step out onto the sidewalk... utter my crow call... and watch my beautiful Glossy Posse come angling in from all directions. To know that they're coming for me is... beyond words. I really can't imagine anything more completely satisfying.

I like to think that thought, for its own sake, is good. Even if it never leads to anything concrete. It's like the neurological equivalent of yoga. And besides, it just feels good.

This week I've been thinking and learning a lot about crows, and birds in general. Cool fact: there is no blue pigment in feathers. There's black, red, yellow, orange and violet - but no blue, and next to no green. So... when you see what appears to be blue in a feathered creature, it's an optical illusion, a case of refraction due to tiny structures within the feathers. Which is why my crows, on sunny days, look blue blue blue blue blue.

Even that little extra bit of understanding makes me feel closer to them. And... with the changing seasons... their interactions with me are changing, too. All summer, it was mostly the kids who followed me around. But now I have Big Daddy at my side - and boy, is he ever big. He's a lot more discreet than the kids, too. They always make themselves known to me; they fly and hop around me and elbow each other out of the way. But Big Daddy follows me in silence, staying out of sight until he's ready to make a point. Then he just materializes. It would freak me out if I was freakable-by-crow.

Yesterday we had a prolonged spell of up-close-and-personal eye contact. There was maybe six inches between us, and he was perched at eye level. I wish I could read him better. Those eyes are so intelligent; I'm sure he has me completely figured out, whereas I can only stand in awe and do my best to serve him.