Sometimes…
I am the sea
Hello. This post is about Death & Birds.
Last week, the Roses conspired to all bloom in unison, like a choir. The Mayflies, ever true to their name, are bobbing up and down like orchestral music—until a Sparrow swoops, snapping a note from the air to deliver it, still humming, to her brood. The Birds are frantic with young-tending, territorial disputes and melodic declarations of their aliveness. I, as ever, am in the grip of dissonance, marvelling at the crescendo of late-Spring from inside a body unconvinced by the idea of holding itself together. My contradictions clash, like Magpies and Crows, midair. Sometimes I am a boulder—grounded and steady—while the sea, wild and raging, thrashes, frenzied, around me. Sometimes, I am the sea. The concept of being a coherent individual with a consistent set of thoughts and behaviours feels as foreign to me as the concept of being a Stick Insect.