The flavor of a bird's song has blessedly been a part of my daily life menu since I was a girl. There is a sweet groundedness as well as vicarious joy in their flight that I've known that has a unique flavor all its own.
Sometimes sharp or shrill, equals too much vinegar. Raven's caw is like dark gray stones with layers of cloud, chuckings and warblings the punctuation.
The sounds, out there, the trillings, squawks and chips are vibrational recognition in me. So grateful for ears that hear these variances.
I once had a 10 minute conversation with a raven, until he/she go bored--and flew off, to my benefit as I had a jeep tour to shortly take out.
I've been wanting to renew my deeper conversation and connection to the winged beings. And, speaking of winged beings, dragonflies this year have been huge, and looping like Red Baron acrobats. Today I'm meeting with someone who loves dragonflies, someone who always renews magic in me.
I love the flavor of light in a person's eyes--the effervescence of their sparkle, the deep notes of their depths: notes, tastes, shivers, visions--the senses are always sending messages to each other, chatting, even as I tune in to one particular sense at a given moment.
I love to take pen in hand and follow the pheromones of their chatter, like stardust, sea spray--a gull's cry that pierces through the soft roar of ocean surf anticipating storm.
Oh, how I love a good storm, rich in sloshing deep sea-weed smells, chunks of herring dropped from a gull's mouth because his brother's morsel looked better, more juicy. One bird, like one word, leads to another.
Appreciation is the magic in us that allows us to taste these myriad flavors or birdsong; the waterfall trill of a Canyon Wren, the piercing cry of a hawk, and the haunting, eerie wail of a loon--calling us into the deep of our own mystery.
