Warnings may come in the smallest forms.
It was early autumn, the air was warm with just a whisper of a chill. I stood on my back deck watching the flame in the fire-pit die down to a flicker. On the horizon, the sky was a majestic deep cerulean while the top of the sky was painted an Indian red.
Dusk was coming. Landing on the railing beside me was a raven the size of a table-lamp. I almost jumped at the sight of…