Inquiring minds have been asking: with dozens of retirement communities to choose from, how did I select Horizon House on Seattle’s First Hill? Simple. When I moved here two months ago, I was following Raven, who’s a significant totem in Northwest native stories. A stunning yet obstreperous bird, Raven has magical power — both good and bad. In my case, all good.

I refer to Raven as represented in a magnificent mask created by British Columbia native carver Garry Rice. I first saw the mask when it hung in the oceanside home of my longtime friend Jill. Despite the hypnotizing view of the vast Pacific, it was the raven mask that dominated her living room. Extending five feet from thatched topknot to forceful beak, its eyes declare “you are being watched.” The beak agape suggests an oracle about to speak.

The late writer and clairvoyant Ted Andrews, in his book “Animal-Speak,” said Raven was credited with bringing forth life and order by stealing the sunlight “from one who would keep the world in darkness.” 

Winter is an ideal season for people whose totem is Raven, Andrews wrote. After Winter Solstice, the light lingers a little longer each day — symbolic of Raven’s influence: “It teaches how to go into the dark and bring forth the light. With each trip in, we develop the ability to bring more light out.” Raven’s black feathers are especially significant, Andrews suggested: “In blackness, everything mingles until drawn forth, out into the light. Because of this, raven can help you shape-shift your life or your being.”

Apropos for carver Rice, who was originally a fisherman and logger. Injuries forced a career-change at midlife, and he became a respected and renowned creator of indigenous art. Last year it was time for me, too, to shape-shift my life and being.

A few years ago Jill had left the ocean and moved to a retirement community. Her new apartment was too small for the mask, but that establishment declined her offer to hang it for public viewing. She decided to donate it to Horizon House, which boasts a stunning, curated collection of art throughout all public areas. Much of it has been donated by residents who faced the same pickle as Jill. She mentioned the donation to me at the time. I’d never heard of Horizon House, but the seed was planted. Some day, I thought, I might want to live there. 

When that some day dawned last year, I knew I might be inclined to make a hasty or emotional decision. I invited my niece — a wise and successful businesswoman — to tour Horizon House with me. While I repeatedly veered off-course to study yet another sculpture or painting, Sandy stayed on-point, asking significant questions I’d never thought of. Ultimately we reached the corridor where Raven once again is a dominating force. Exquisite lighting allows the mask’s reflection to appear on interior windows across the hall. A few steps away from Raven, our tour guide opened the door to the serene aqua of a salt-water swimming pool. 

Art! Raven! Salt-water pool! Where do I sign?

Twice since I moved into my thirteenth story apartment, a crow has landed on the air conditioner ledge outside my window. Crows and ravens are cousins in the Corvidae family. On both those visits, the crow peered through the window just long enough to observe, “Okay. You seem to be settling in,” before flying off. 

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NOTE: For those who may want more, uhm, straightforward information about choosing a retirement community, I recommend (for Washington residents) this information page on the Washington Continuing Care Residents Association site or outside Washington, the National Continuing Care Residents Association.