Sunday was a day of discovery at The Gables.
I found myself working for hours and hours in my studio, completing old ideas, satin finishing projects I dug up from the depths of my workbench and when my work was finally through I tied shoes on my feet and flew up to the hills.
A steady stride carried me up through the sage, past hillsides of hip-tall Midas grasses, past the Russian olive grove, through the cool damp of the maples and the white limbs of the aspen, over one spring creek and then the next and then high enough that it was only the junipers and I aloft on down valley drafts and the heady scent of scaled leaves in the spring sunlight amidst stubborn patches of snow. I tried to watch the ground as I ran but my eyes were drawn up, time and time again, to the tree tips laced with Idaho blue, which is exactly where I was looking when I found this.
It took an easy climb and the quick snap of a branch to retrieve it. It fit in my palm so well, it was as though it was slip cast from my hand. Inside, the detritus of last year. Small, disintegrating grey turds and a pair of matched leaves; weathered and crisp. It was otherwise empty. A small grey abandoned house, slightly aslant in the wind, timbers hanging on by mere threads. (And in the corner of the bedroom a sun bleached nightgown fluttering on a hook.)
Who, in this world, takes the time to build a home of sticks, grasses and spit anymore, but for the birds? They keep our hope buoyant on their matchstick legs. Bright eyed. Beak clacking. Wings folded in prayer. Complex songs and offerings on their tongues, weaving melodies and warbles like women at looms. Balancing the world on their flight feathers, diving in the breeze and stalling in the gales. And at night, heads under wings and a soft coo to anyone who will hear.
And then in the garden, nestled between two tulips, memento mori, free of the stench of death, cobwebbed and crusted with dirt. The smallest skull with a perfect beak but a throat song long evaporated into the living landscapes of Idaho.
Translucent in the sun.
Creatively designed.
Placed there by the tides of time and the provident hands of God for me to discover and thoughtfully turn over and over again in my fingertips.
Birds of the past,
I wonder what wings my way in the future.
beautiful! i'm a nest collector (abandoned of course) myself, and i never cease to marvel at how intricate and carefully constructed they are. you have quite a treasure there!
I am in love with your two discoveries. That skull is, indeed, perfect. As is the wee nest.
I felt similarly this weekend — running my hands over projects, feeling close to surfacing with the power of new ideas … and watching in wonder as the world unveiled its spring secrets into bloom around me.
Wishing you a beautiful week full of new and natural magic. xo.
Good morning ladies!
Lara, well gosh! It's nice to meet a fellow nest collector! And by the way, I'm not sure if I've ever seen you comment here before so thank you and welcome! xx
Dame James: Sigh. I had a feeling you were having a similar weekend. I wish you the same, this week! xxxxxx
Thank you lovely!
P.S. Also, I love that song. I first heard it by the Be Good Tanyas but also love Jolie Holland's solo version, which sounds eerie and delightful.
P.P.S. I feel obliged to tell you that you should listen to Mississippi John Hurt, if you aren't already. Specifically, this album: http://amzn.to/aJJjtL
Because it's amazing. AMAZING.
P.P.P.S. My word verification? FLASK. What's up, Blogger? It's only Monday!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E1zmfTr2d4c
check out this nest builder! i thought you might appreciate it…
xo
Your words are like the intricate steps of a dance of the intellect…
Gorgeous nest and beautiful bone – the art of nature. I have a couple of birds nests to remind me of all the beauty out there.
…precious…memento mori…memento mean't for
YOU…
especially YOU…
because only you can share it with us in all its silver glory…
BIGhug
Ooh.
Your bird love makes me want to flap my wings about and make a racket.
Thanks for being here and for saying so!
xx