Nora
a symphony of colors or words
that fly together like a flock of birds
A memory...
Those overhangs resemble ghastly…leaden dew claws; they jut out randomly from the near vertical wall of bumpy, disorganized slate. Irritably, I follow (at ground level) that washed-out ridge-line; always hugging the dingy blockade of this bulbous ‘sanctuary.’ On the opposing side, a mighty evergreen woodland; massive, fragrant cedar -- spruce and pine – all of whom are held in check by our fortification, our cage. During the rainy season, the occasional cluster would shift their loyalties…and down, down they would come…tumble and crash as they haphazardly sink into virgin soil, zigging-zagging our unofficial walkway.
Nearly a week of meticulous searching hasn’t bore fruit. Between the two of us, we’d uncovered twelve or more possibilities. But none could stand the criteria of my expectations. Shallow, narrow, wet, infested. Sprinkled with the pungent essence of bear, coyote and wolverine. Frustration ebbs, growling…clawing for the release from anxiety, pressure.
Our finale is nearing. Every hour…my protruding gut implies, suggests the end of pregnancy with tingling cramps that gravitate around my midsection and undercarriage.
Understanding/expectations regarding the matter of labor/birth is defined by information gleamed from rumor... There are few (if any) expectant mares in the basin. And gossip alone couldn't bridge the gaping chasm of unease…it didn’t ease the swollen terror as it consumes and defines the framework of my wakeful hours. Negativity feeds into all the fabricated possibilities imaginable...my subconscious glowers, rationale arguments sprouting from the tip of her brim, 'you aren't the first or the last to bring life into this world,' a disjointed gasp/sigh is all response she’d earn as our occupant nosedives, kicking the roof of my torso. The child drives those tiny, velvet feet into various nooks; reworking my innards to better suit his/hers unknown whims.
Swiftly, agitated -- my muzzle flinches rearward -- tilting under the arch of one half-bent wing. A tender snout nudges the swirl of color beneath, while my paternal compassion is whispered with a native tongue, "etre facile." Sleeping of late has become a game of perfect timing…and no small amount of luck. Those gentle, fluttering nudges (captivating my boundless intrigue) are painful kicks and jabs. Often focused with seemingly unwarranted affection for my diaphragm and bladder.
Pale as bone in the overcast light, a curly haired buck leaps suddenly from the wooded grove, startling me. Irises sip upon ivory fur and tawny horn, but he doesn't tarry astride my path. He lunges (without a glance) toward that insurmountable barricade. A snarled breath catches in the back of my throat...impressively, his toes latch upon narrow indention's (nearly invisible) seemingly chiseled into the bedrock over many a millennium of cloven feet.
-----
Present...
Irony shoves us to the threshold, mocking our circumstance with memories of peace…and sanctuary. Daring us to become complacent again…trusting…again. Granite, marbled walls; irises lift, following their height into the crystalline sky above. Pinions loosen, a wary gesture that reveals my sudden (uncharacteristic) uncertainty for our choice of habitation. Lazily, my subconscious observes from afar...she doesn’t bother sparring with my torn ideals, even when they bleat for me to shy from the foredooming barricade and return to our sunlit haven…
Noise ahead, thundering feet – heavyset
Curious velvet's twist head-ward; realization emerges from that inner conflict, pinging reality with vague sharpness, “Noah?” Papery nostrils tremble apart, sucking on the tit of humid, coniferous air. The eagle had taken our swallow in the opposite direction; searching (as I do) for a den that would suit our intentions. Assumptions rise, blossoming like fog in the dawn, ‘he wouldn’t come from that direction.’ Forelimbs stutter, halting my approach as the dull shadows birth a dark, powerful man...another titan.
Hover over text for a translation!
a symphony of colors or words
that fly together like a flock of birds
A memory...
Those overhangs resemble ghastly…leaden dew claws; they jut out randomly from the near vertical wall of bumpy, disorganized slate. Irritably, I follow (at ground level) that washed-out ridge-line; always hugging the dingy blockade of this bulbous ‘sanctuary.’ On the opposing side, a mighty evergreen woodland; massive, fragrant cedar -- spruce and pine – all of whom are held in check by our fortification, our cage. During the rainy season, the occasional cluster would shift their loyalties…and down, down they would come…tumble and crash as they haphazardly sink into virgin soil, zigging-zagging our unofficial walkway.
Nearly a week of meticulous searching hasn’t bore fruit. Between the two of us, we’d uncovered twelve or more possibilities. But none could stand the criteria of my expectations. Shallow, narrow, wet, infested. Sprinkled with the pungent essence of bear, coyote and wolverine. Frustration ebbs, growling…clawing for the release from anxiety, pressure.
Our finale is nearing. Every hour…my protruding gut implies, suggests the end of pregnancy with tingling cramps that gravitate around my midsection and undercarriage.
Understanding/expectations regarding the matter of labor/birth is defined by information gleamed from rumor... There are few (if any) expectant mares in the basin. And gossip alone couldn't bridge the gaping chasm of unease…it didn’t ease the swollen terror as it consumes and defines the framework of my wakeful hours. Negativity feeds into all the fabricated possibilities imaginable...my subconscious glowers, rationale arguments sprouting from the tip of her brim, 'you aren't the first or the last to bring life into this world,' a disjointed gasp/sigh is all response she’d earn as our occupant nosedives, kicking the roof of my torso. The child drives those tiny, velvet feet into various nooks; reworking my innards to better suit his/hers unknown whims.
Swiftly, agitated -- my muzzle flinches rearward -- tilting under the arch of one half-bent wing. A tender snout nudges the swirl of color beneath, while my paternal compassion is whispered with a native tongue, "etre facile." Sleeping of late has become a game of perfect timing…and no small amount of luck. Those gentle, fluttering nudges (captivating my boundless intrigue) are painful kicks and jabs. Often focused with seemingly unwarranted affection for my diaphragm and bladder.
Pale as bone in the overcast light, a curly haired buck leaps suddenly from the wooded grove, startling me. Irises sip upon ivory fur and tawny horn, but he doesn't tarry astride my path. He lunges (without a glance) toward that insurmountable barricade. A snarled breath catches in the back of my throat...impressively, his toes latch upon narrow indention's (nearly invisible) seemingly chiseled into the bedrock over many a millennium of cloven feet.
-----
Present...
Irony shoves us to the threshold, mocking our circumstance with memories of peace…and sanctuary. Daring us to become complacent again…trusting…again. Granite, marbled walls; irises lift, following their height into the crystalline sky above. Pinions loosen, a wary gesture that reveals my sudden (uncharacteristic) uncertainty for our choice of habitation. Lazily, my subconscious observes from afar...she doesn’t bother sparring with my torn ideals, even when they bleat for me to shy from the foredooming barricade and return to our sunlit haven…
Noise ahead, thundering feet – heavyset
Curious velvet's twist head-ward; realization emerges from that inner conflict, pinging reality with vague sharpness, “Noah?” Papery nostrils tremble apart, sucking on the tit of humid, coniferous air. The eagle had taken our swallow in the opposite direction; searching (as I do) for a den that would suit our intentions. Assumptions rise, blossoming like fog in the dawn, ‘he wouldn’t come from that direction.’ Forelimbs stutter, halting my approach as the dull shadows birth a dark, powerful man...another titan.
Hover over text for a translation!
