Blue far above and blue far below, suspended between them blue-black raven flies.  This high up the jet streams beneath his wings and the flaps are few and effortless. But suddenly the deep many hued endless blue below changes to an blinding flash of emerald green.  Raven diving, feeling no specific or particular change in his being as comes the experience and the delicate graceful joy of concentrated falling headlong ten thousand feet to the earth. His blue-black streak a momentary bridge between earth and sky. The ever larger blindingly green island growing somehow not quite alarmingly beneath him.  The green is green as green can be.  

The green of a rare beam of clear sunlight through a bamboo forest of the deepest interior. The green of Irish fields after a fine spring rain and the raven plummets towards it, leveling out a few scant feet above the glowing sod. Banking slightl left to miss the large white standing stone before it.  Flying forward over small rivulets splitting tghe vast sea of green grass laid out before it, the green so bright, so intense, so vibrant that soon it feels as if the raven is flying down a tunnel of green glowing light.  With spots of white and glimpses of blue and occasionally a small farmhouse with the smoke rising from its chimney.

The edge of a cliff looms before and the raven plunges over the edge, diving down, down towards the blue of gthe sea.  And then back up climbinb climbing tgowards the sun.  The intensity of blue, the intensity of green powering it upwards, seeking the source, seeking the bright light that the raven magical creature that he is knows without thinking is the same light within.  That gives him the power to play amongst the apparent solidity of the energy form that he both creates, inhabits and knows is illusion.

The raven vanishes into the sun.