stories

A Bird Aloof
Natasha mentioned to me that she would like to work with the image of bird migrations for our piece. Immediately I renderred a memory of driving out to the Everglades with my father to watch the convention of birds of all colors shapes and sizes that would assemble on or around knolls of cypress, bromeliads, sabal palms, and slash pines. The park is sometimes refered to as the river of grass - it's a ninety mile wide swamp occasionally interrupted by one of these oases that served for this short of the year as an elaborately diverse perch for the flocks. We sat for hours combing the skies making sure not to miss the arrival of a new group. From our perspective we could see groups approaching from the distance in any direction. The sky is a dome in the short grass of the Everglades. The birds arrived in formation, descending into a squacking mess as they each found their own perch in the knolls. Once perched, an hour of greetings would occur with an occasional renegade bird ascending as if to survey the group. Eventually a calm would fall and the birds were inditinguishable from the knoll.

At the end of one of our trips to the grassriver, we encountered a wounded kestrel falcon. It had broken its wing. We took it home and mended it. He held domain of our living room for about a month, protesting the whole time about his captivity or the fact that we, with our "good intentions", forfeit his opportunity to die. Once his wing looked well, we returned to the Everglades to release him. My father and I got quite clawed up on the drive over. When we got to the location where we found him we opened all the car doors to invite him out. He stumbled out of the passenger side, looked around, flapped, caught some air to test, then soared off. Immediately he found a mate, a friend, or a familiar face circling in opposition. They screeched at eachother, not in offence or warning, but in reverence. He came back down for a moment and landed in front of my father and I, spread his wings as if in gratitude, and soared off again.
We drove back home.

What of this occasional tickle
I pray that now you not be fickle

If my vision were scrambled, my eyes mashed leaving the retina intact, I would still see her. I was excited by this. We came close and stayed close for many years building a tower as a perch for us to rule from (rule only our eyes and their objects). Once it was built we climbed, glimpsed about, and destroyed it beneath us.
Naturally, gravity recalled it's claim on our bodies evidenced by bruises, gashes, and bones broken.
So we continue. Read the rest of this post or comment »