The Tree seems to like us, my mate and me. In Midgard again, roosting in the Tree. It is coming on for Spring – there is a
breath of warmth on the winds, and the trees are starting to show green buds.
It seems that a teenage group likes this territory. I am not clear if the other ravens can see
us. I know that they can see the Tree
but are smart enough not to touch it. Clever of them. I watch.
I remember.
The mating flights are quite fun to watch. The young males trying to impress the
females, the females letting them think they are impressed. So it goes. So it has ever gone. Long upon long. I watch.
I remember.
Once, I was a female who had her eye on one male,
as clever as he was handsome. His dips
and rolls and other fancy flying just confirmed my desire. He came for me, did
Huginn. We chased and turned and twisted.
Then I let him catch me. As we
were falling, he reached out to clutch at a tree branch. We settled, then
ruffled our feathers to get our breath back.
We rested, together, for a time.
Then he began to bring me the sticks and down and leather to make the
nest for our young. I remember.
I felt very safe and secure in the tree my mate had
chosen. I noticed that the surroundings
were not always the same. Once, Huginn
had flown for hours, circling, trying to find the tree, unable to do so. Then, he told me, it had shimmered into
existence where it had always been. Most trees do not act that way. We shrugged it off, laughing about it. The tree we had chosen was certainly
unique. Therefore, our clutch would be
unique as well. I remember.
In the fullness of time, I laid my eggs, kept them
warm while my mate brought us both food, and watched them hatch. Just after they hatched, at the end of a
hunt, Huginn neared the tree and realized there was a hawk on his trail. He circled, the hawk screamed and came for
me. The hawk lit on the tree, coming for
me or my young. I cried out – and the
tree shimmered, leaving the space-time where it had been, leaving the hawk
behind, but taking me, my mate, and my young with it. We were shaken, my mate and I. Our younglings cared not, as long as they
were fed. The prey my mate had brought
with him from the hunt had also made the transition with the tree, so we were
able to feed them, and ourselves. I
remember.
Huginn searched for other trees to choose for
homes, having been thoroughly frightened by the transition of this tree. However, within 10 miles, there were no
trees. None but this one. Huginn found wells in plenty, and such small
creatures as were good to eat. His hunts
always brought us enough food. Several
months passed, and it came time to send our fledglings out into the world. We were both concerned about what world we
would send them into. We had a
discussion about that, came to no clear determination, and agreed to talk about
it in the morning, on the other side of sleep.
I remember.
I remember waking to the dawn of the world into
which I had been born. I believe the
Tree had heard our discussion and made a decision for us. During the next while, my mate showed our
brood how to hunt. When we were certain
they could fend for themselves, we pushed them out of the nest. One by one, they cried and complained. One by one, we chased them away. When they were well and truly gone, my mate
and I slumped against one another. We
were wearied to the bone. It is not easy to make your children go out to fend
for themselves. So it goes. So it has ever gone, for long upon long. I remember.
I am sure that we slept, as weary as we were. We woke to the sounds of groaning below
us. Looking down, we saw a man hanging
upside down above a well. His face was
as grey as the ashes after a fire in the trees – which is not a color humans
customarily come in. He looked as weary as I felt. He also had a sense of victory about him,
though his face was swollen and he was missing an eye. As we watched, trying to
take in the sight, the Tree shook itself fiercely. When the shaking subsided, the man was no
longer in the Tree, but sitting on the ground below, near the water, talking to
a figure who was made of gossamer mist.
We looked on. We did not
understand. I remember.
All at once, they both looked up. The man who had been hanging looked much
better, his face starting to approach the color it came in. He also sported an eye-patch. He had a small horn in his hand, in which was
a draught of the water from the Well. He
called to us. He called to us and we
left the land in which we were born to fly the world over and bring him
news. It was long ago. We have worked for the All Father for long
upon long, down the marching span of centuries.
I have never had another clutch.
I made peace with that long ago.
I am Muninn and, though I don’t live in the past, I remember.
©January 4, 2015, Cedar Wolfsinger
branded.me:
https://branded.me/michelleowings-christian
I am also on Twitter:
@michelle owings-chri
LinkedIn profile:
https://www.linkedin.com/in/michelle-owings-christian-bbb7278branded.me:
https://branded.me/michelleowings-christian
Oh my, that's beautiful.
ReplyDelete