Thursday, June 1, 2023

the old woman and morning songs, part 4 of 4


Some say aubades are the morning songs of parting lovers. What do most of us know about our connection to birds? By me, not far from the wetlands, the robins are the first birds to sing in the morning and the last at night. That is, until the Carolina wren bounces up and down with its song. Once they encourage each other, if they’ve managed to lift one of your eyelids, you’re sunk. There is no more sleep. I get called into the day and I imagine, called into a blended being of song and activity. If first thoughts and last thoughts could feel as I do now life would be a dream.

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It was confirmed for me, when I heard the red-wings Okalee call there, that Lynn and I found another home for our spirits at Island Beach State Park. I am not a cartographer, but the places in nature that touch our spirits seem to be connected in ways not always known. Everything begins with a feeling. It is kinship. After being in the womb of our world, perhaps even those of us not “into” nature, respond just as the cowbird does to its mothers song, or the quail, or the humpback calf that whispers back to its mother. Even in the ocean, the sound of connection streams to the source.  Our sense of kinship with nature might be broken but it is quickly repaired. Listen. Just shhhhh for a moment.  Listen.

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I have seen myself and others influenced by friends and artists or people well known in their respective fields.  And I notice that the good influences are like the gentle movement of water around bends that will also seep onto the dry areas. By opening to another influence we sometimes become more of who we are. I remember going to the wetlands to talk to spirit about Lenny. This is when I saw the eagle come out of the white-blue sky as if it slipped into view from another world.  Grief and oak barrels leave openings, small nooks and crannies for light and new life to bubble and emerge. That is why we protect the entire biome. That is why protected areas, not just protected species. We are what we are because of the areas we travel and roam, because of the air that moves across our spaces, or the currents and storms, and the people that touch us like gentle winds.

Now I remembered, my feathers started growing when Lenny slipped into the white-blue sky and disappeared. 

 

 

from the old woman and morning songs ~ 12 in bird dreams, riding hope, - sometimes a fable, weaving  our connections to birds,  meandering rivers and dragons, fermenting miso and consciousness,

wetlands, our extended kin and ancestors, our mentors, and Wisdom.

Inspired by actual events and a sense of place and belonging by a woman who addresses the reader  on behalf of the earth

 

Here’s my links, please share on your socials

https://amzn.to/3F5N7No   
https://linktr.ee/fredakarpf

Check out bird dreams, riding hope on Apple podcast

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/bird-dreams-riding-hope/id1659892042

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