Grab the Sandwich!

The morning was stitched in a quiet gold stillness, the kind that settles over the world just before the neighborly hum of awakening. The sky hung soft and open, with a promise of an easy burn-off and afternoon warmth. Wally and I were on the final leg of our morning walk, just coming out of the woods and onto the pavement.  I could see our feline roommate, Buzz, waiting for us at the mailbox like he always does, and Wally made himself extra busy with his nose, knowing our walk was nearing its end. I let my thoughts settle into the quiet, the dewy haze, the cool air.  I was mentally lingering while my body continued to move – thinking of nothing–and everything. Then, something dark cleaved the sky in front of me: A crow.

It flew low, directly down the center of the street, wings spread in slow, confident pulses. The light caught its feathers and set them shimmering with a rich sheen of polished onyx. Gliding, it knew the exact size of the air and how to press against it with just enough force to stay aloft without having to try too hard.

There was something ancient and magical about it. A black flame in motion. A mythical icon of something sacred.

Then I saw the sandwich.

Wedged sideways in its beak was an entire half of a sandwich, crusts intact, pale lettuce sticking out at odd angles. The bird held its course, completely unbothered by the awkward payload bouncing from its mouth.

And suddenly the moment was less sacred, more slapstick.

I chuckled. I couldn’t help it. The ridiculousness of it—this gleaming bird of myth and mystery hauling around what looked like someone’s discarded lunch—broke the spell.  The way Buzz lifted his head and nonchalantly watched it pass by, as if it were the most common scene, doubled the comedy.  It was the kind of thing you expect to see in a cartoon, not a live-action Tuesday morning.

But the longer I watched, the more I wondered.

I could imagine no reasonable origin. It was far too early for someone to have just dropped their lunch. Most likely, it had been left behind the day before—forgotten beside a bench or tossed near a bin, deemed no longer useful by someone who had moved on. And yet, here it was now: airborne, reclaimed, becoming part of this oddly wonderful scene.

And I found myself wondering—was this crow teaching me something?

Maybe. Maybe it was reminding me that the world is filled with strange, unexpected treasures. That not everything valuable comes freshly wrapped or shiny with newness. Sometimes nourishment arrives in yesterday’s leftovers. Sometimes opportunity is something others overlooked.

Maybe the lesson was this:
You don’t always get the perfect chance at the perfect time. But when you see something useful, something good enough, something that might carry you a little further—take it. Pick it up. Hold it tight. Fly.

Of course, there’s a line – taking what isn’t rightfully yours is another matter.  I’m not speaking of theft.  I’m speaking of those moments when something is right there for the taking – a chance to speak up, or show your art, or apply for the thing, or say yes when you’re scared.  So often we let it pass us by, waiting for something better, something clearer, something with less wilted lettuce hanging out of it.

I think about all the times I’ve hesitated, waiting for a better moment, a clearer sign, a tidier path. All the times I’ve let ideas cool on the counter of self-doubt until they spoiled–unloved leftovers of inspiration. But the crow? The crow didn’t wait. It didn’t worry if the sandwich was pristine. It saw the chance and claimed it.

And maybe that’s what courage looks like. Not bold speeches or grand gestures, but the quiet confidence to act when something good crosses your path—no matter how unexpected, imperfect, or ridiculous it might seem.

It wasn’t a majestic moment because of the sandwich. It was majestic despite the sandwich.

Life is messy. Joy and absurdity often arrive hand-in-hand. Because even onyx-winged poetry-in-motion sometimes needs a snack. And because sometimes, opportunity doesn’t look like a door—it looks like half a BLT left under a tree. And those who thrive are the ones willing to look a little silly as they leap toward what they need.

So thank you, crow, for your graceful, goofy, gutsy morning flight. You reminded me to stay awake to the world around me. To look twice at what others have passed by, because sometimes life hands you half a sandwich, and it may not be elegant, but it might be exactly what you need.

And when that happens–grab it. Hold it tight. And fly!