Blue far above and blue far below, the black streak that is Raven dives. High up the wing flaps are few and far between but soon the blue below changes to an emerald green.  The raven dives, feeling no particular change in its being as it experiences the joy of falling ten thousand feet to the earth.  The large green island growing beneath it.  The green is green as green can be.  The green of Ireland after a 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 climbing 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.