he Northern Mockingbird who sings every morning just after dawn has, I think, found a mate. Yesterday his song changed dramatically, at least to my terrestrial ears. Before it had been hopeful, excited, lyrical, yearning. Yesterday and today it was nothing short of triumphant, a confident joy.
Two nights running I had a strong dream of me carrying a hawk in my arms. I’m not sure what kind of hawk it is; when I look down, it’s usually huddling in the crook of my left arm, as if it is a little cold or a little afraid. It relaxes when I stroke it.
Then on Facebook, a friend posted a photo of a man cradling a rooster a little too lovingly. Wanted to know if it was me. For several years now, some Internet pals have called me Chicken Boy because the first wedding at which I officiated, I was photographed (in full ministerial garb) standing next to a giant wooden cut-out of a hen in a field. Somehow they leapt from a whimsical wedding on a Vermont mountaintop to a decidedly venal projection of zoophilic desires.
This morning I was walking with some friends at a nature enclave and saw this screech owl, dozing at the door of an owl house.
During this afternoon’s nap I have the hawk dream again.
One of the animals in my shamanic pantheon is Golden Eagle. Of all the helping spirits, he’s the one I haven’t gotten to know very well. Then yesterday, viewing an audio slideshow of an astoundingly beautiful upcoming documentary series, I saw a few photos of men in the Tungus region of Siberia using golden eagles as hunting birds. And suddenly I remembered that the word shaman originated with these very people.
Honestly, I blame Indigo Bunting and her husband for all this. I was relatively blasé about birds until I met them and caught a touch of their birding fever. I’m really not a birder. But I now adore them, especially here in Florida, where on any given day I can see Sandhill Cranes, peacocks, ibises, egrets and herons galore, an anhinga or two, plus all the regular birds spread over a large portion of the eastern US.
And no, I don’t have any idea what this means. Speak to me, birds. I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.
Actually, the series isn’t upcoming. It’s out already.
I love owls. I feel something for them. And sandhill cranes. But owls, especially, seem important to me.
Cool owl pic (clears throat).
That throat-clearing you all hear is Adam telling us that he is the masterful photographer who took it. He just got the camera, mainly to be ready for his new granddaughter due any moment, and he’s already a pro.
The BBC series Human Planet began broadcasting two nights ago in the UK, but hasn’t yet been shown on this side of the pond. I expect Discovery or the Learning Channel will be showing it before long.
We were watching episodes one through six today.
Yes, but I wasn’t talking about Videos Gained Through Unorthodox Means.
It’s not Unorthodox. We call it Reformed.
Ah, birds. Ah, birds in dreams. It’s all so good. And I love how you know many of their names.
Oh this is lovely. (You’ve been missed). That Indigo Bunting has a lot to answer for. I got hooked on birds in Africa – but I doubt I would have if I hadn’t been exposed to IB’s interest in our feathered friends.
Well, Mali, that makes me quite happy.
Golden eagles for hunting? I hope they have thick gloves.
You bet: http://dreamtime-pix.tumblr.com/
Nice to see you blogging.
Hey Deloney,
Just wanted to stop in and say hi…..
Girlattorney