the Auspices
a liminal prelude of both-and-neither
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Hello. This post is about Death & Birds.
The air has shifted, here, and I am whispered to of Spring. The garden Birds have changed their song and become frenetic in discourse and display. Everywhere I look I see Crows and Magpies collecting bits of tree for their forthcoming nests, and I can sense the sea of soon-to-be feathered souls waiting, somewhere in the wings. In the garden, I watch a Magpie make multiple attempts to fly while holding an ambitiously-sized branch. Eventually, he lets it go—his discernment a timely reminder that sometimes we must put things down, simply because they are too heavy.