(no subject)
This is taken and lightly modified from a private journal entry (yes, in a real paper journal I keep)
The thought is never very far away, and neither is the reality. That's the case for all of us; it's just that some of us are more aware of it than others. Many people attempt to whitewash it right out of their lives and treat it like it doesn't exist. Closing their eyes, they block out the most basic and least personal of reminders, like the orderly rows of headstones one occasionally encounters driving down the street, or the appearance of road kill. I'm familiar in a very personal way with that kind of denial, but it's been a long time since it's been an option for me.
I see it all around me all of the time. I feel it all of the time. Both fear and acceptance live vigorously in me, sometimes one stronger than the other. Lately fear has been stronger.
I was pumping gas the other day,and I stared at the ground. I saw what I thought was a leaf that had been wintered-over, the sort that tends to scamper across the road with a little encouragement from the wind during spring. Fooling the eye for a moment, such leaves often appear to be little animals, like mice or chipmunks. This, however, was no leaf, but the carcass of a tiny hatchling. It was as delicate and as easy to crumple, the same colour and hue, but its shape was clear. I felt a strange hearbroken tenderness. Ribs, wings, skull, tiny beak: I found it oddly adorable and a little sad sitting there on the pavement, nowhere near a tree. It was as if the wind itself could have blown it there, but it's more likely that it perished up against the gas pump. It must have lain there a long while to achieve this state; I doubt most people looking at it at this stage would have realized that this was once a bird.
In looking at it, my thoughts and fears from throughout the day coalesced, and I knew I had to take the bird. I wasn't quite sure about what was to be done with it, but I knew it was to come with me. I finished pumping my gas, got a paper towel and scooped him up.
As I was driving home, I realized he wouldn't be coming all the way home with me. This left me somewhat relived as I had feared he would be. I didn't know if he needed to go on Hela's altar or what. Thankfully I was to take him to Joe's Rock, a little preserve in Wrentham.
Placed under a tree, he's where he's supposed to be. He had already done his job; I'm quite sure his carcass was far more noticable when he was fresher. I wonder how many people looked down to see him there and looked away, actively pushing his presence out of their awareness. I wonder how many stared emptily and forgot moments later when driving away. I wonder how many people had to face a little bit of the circle unwillingly, while pumping their gas, a captive audience to baby birdy corpse. I wonder how many were whole enough to own the experience with either ease or difficulty. I, admittedly, had difficulty.
Though he's long gone, a tall oak is now his body's guardian. I left some candy for the wight and cleaned up some trash before leaving.
The thought is never very far away, and neither is the reality. That's the case for all of us; it's just that some of us are more aware of it than others. Many people attempt to whitewash it right out of their lives and treat it like it doesn't exist. Closing their eyes, they block out the most basic and least personal of reminders, like the orderly rows of headstones one occasionally encounters driving down the street, or the appearance of road kill. I'm familiar in a very personal way with that kind of denial, but it's been a long time since it's been an option for me.
I see it all around me all of the time. I feel it all of the time. Both fear and acceptance live vigorously in me, sometimes one stronger than the other. Lately fear has been stronger.
I was pumping gas the other day,and I stared at the ground. I saw what I thought was a leaf that had been wintered-over, the sort that tends to scamper across the road with a little encouragement from the wind during spring. Fooling the eye for a moment, such leaves often appear to be little animals, like mice or chipmunks. This, however, was no leaf, but the carcass of a tiny hatchling. It was as delicate and as easy to crumple, the same colour and hue, but its shape was clear. I felt a strange hearbroken tenderness. Ribs, wings, skull, tiny beak: I found it oddly adorable and a little sad sitting there on the pavement, nowhere near a tree. It was as if the wind itself could have blown it there, but it's more likely that it perished up against the gas pump. It must have lain there a long while to achieve this state; I doubt most people looking at it at this stage would have realized that this was once a bird.
In looking at it, my thoughts and fears from throughout the day coalesced, and I knew I had to take the bird. I wasn't quite sure about what was to be done with it, but I knew it was to come with me. I finished pumping my gas, got a paper towel and scooped him up.
As I was driving home, I realized he wouldn't be coming all the way home with me. This left me somewhat relived as I had feared he would be. I didn't know if he needed to go on Hela's altar or what. Thankfully I was to take him to Joe's Rock, a little preserve in Wrentham.
Placed under a tree, he's where he's supposed to be. He had already done his job; I'm quite sure his carcass was far more noticable when he was fresher. I wonder how many people looked down to see him there and looked away, actively pushing his presence out of their awareness. I wonder how many stared emptily and forgot moments later when driving away. I wonder how many people had to face a little bit of the circle unwillingly, while pumping their gas, a captive audience to baby birdy corpse. I wonder how many were whole enough to own the experience with either ease or difficulty. I, admittedly, had difficulty.
Though he's long gone, a tall oak is now his body's guardian. I left some candy for the wight and cleaned up some trash before leaving.