Maggie was walking through the city again. She couldn't remember leaving the house, though, only that Dinah had taken Mutt for a long traipse through the woods. Her feet had carried her to a bridge over a canal that was covered in moss-green duckweed. On the left bank stood parked cars, perilously close to the unguarded edge. On the right side lay grass, dormant in the winter. Bare trees stood here and there, their empty branches softly creaking in the cold, watery breeze. A large modern sculpture sternly oversaw this domain. It was of a giant raven in flight, mounted on an unadorned, three-meter high, obsidian column, and made of small blocks of blackened wood. The bird was flying away from the grassy area, towards the bridge on which Maggie stood.
She regarded the statue for a while, and found it crudely beautiful. She wasn't fond of birds, but had always found rooks, crows, and ravens, and even their little cousins blackbirds, fascinating. They seemed somehow more intelligent than other birds. The way they cocked their heads and appraised you appealed to her. They always seemed to pass judgment, and you were always found wanting, because they would inevitably hop off, indifferently, ready to bully a nearby dove or to scrutinize another hapless passer-by.
This giant raven, immobile though it was, seemed no different. The artist had captured its cock of the head, and its beak pointed directly at Maggie. Who are you, then, it silently questioned her. Another nameless face come to gawk at me? Or are you that person that will finally saw me off this pedestal, so I can soar away in earnest?
Maggie smiled. I didn't bring a saw, she thought, but surely you're big enough to break free on your own? You are only a prisoner if you let yourself be.
Easy for you to say, quoth the raven. Do as I say, but don't so as I do, eh?