My rented bike glided through the weak 2 a.m. June light along the western edge of Anchorage, Alaska. The vacation air agreed with my lungs and I raced forward. A clearing on a bluff overlooking the wild blue waters of the Knik Arm came into view; a perfect scenery break.

Unfolding a stick of gum in my mouth, I leaned back on my arms and soaked my birthplace in. From the quiet night-light I heard a strange babyish mewing. I glanced to my right and met the black pearl gaze of a large raven hopping towards me. I was in awe. “What are you doing up this early?” I asked.

As he neared I could see his oily blue-black feathers rising and falling with each breath, like tiny coal bellows. He bent forward and gave my knuckle a light peck. Nothing. Next, he used his beak to pry at my clenched fingers. Finally my palm relaxed exposing the object of his desire, the missing ember of daylight, the foil wrapper from my gum. With his tinsel of light collected, he launched upward to deliver his gift to Apollo.