My love said to me
We’re two of a kind
And me mother did frighten
What shade caught my eye
Then he bolt awake from me
Walked some proper way
It will not be long love
Till our wedding day
.
He flew away from me
And his song filled the air
And fondly I watched him
Flit here and flit there
And he scant could remember
His wings were a pair
Lost all sense of direction
In the city glare
.
The people were saying
He drew blood in his bed
Burst bright plumes of she-down
Twixt thorns of his nest
And he wept when he saw me
Night fell factory to field
.
And that was the last
That they saw of my dear
.
One cold morning
Thick leaves o’er a den
So softly he entered
Tucked close to my breast
He slept fast my heartbeat
Assured of his place
It will not be long love
Till our wedding day
.
@~^~
Woke with this song randomly rattling about my skull. Alas, when I try to sing such things the lyrics are suddenly sinister. What’s meant to be wistful becomes menacing, longing becomes a direct demand. I guess that’s what happens when you spend your life filing your thoughts into prison shivs and don’t have the option of turning off your hoodrat subwoofer. So I leaned in.
Anyway, a while back the kids were learning music and my favorite godchild told me I sounded like forest protector Maleficent as a dragon. Except my husband is like…a tiny songbird that eats meat and acts all crazy and nobody understands him until I show up and suddenly it’s Game of Thrones. Kids say the darndest things. Turns out there is in fact a songbird that eats meat.
How did I roll all this shit together this morning? Read a piece about medieval noblewomen and their passion for falconry, and how they created and maintained parks and hunting grounds. So of course I got to thinking about the sexual dimorphism among birds of prey. Environmental degradation, the agency of women, etc etc etc.
wyrdwind 