Time rolls on, a relentless tide. The measurement of its passage is painted in the mechanical rhythm of the timepiece and the unmarked tide of nature’s cycle. The polar opposites of life and death are the compass of this plane’s existence.

     All spring long the business of life washes on the edge of awareness. The birds that come and go mark the current. Nests are built, eggs are laid and chicks are born. The naked skin sprouts eider and then feathers in mottled clumps that purport a life amongst the clouds.

     The distance between branch and sky is a greater one than most might think. We mark the first day of summer as determined by the Gregorian calendar and the position of the sun and moon. Birds mark the change from the raw green of birth to fruition in a perilous learning curve that leaves the young vulnerable and earthbound waiting until time and genetic memory induce the safeguards that perpetuate the species as a whole.

     The wheat is a golden glow spread out across the horizon. Impatient for the sky, the very young wait out their time nestled in its protective heights. Awkward and weak, they sit in false enclaves hidden from dire straights and natural selection until the gifts that buffer them from the harshness of their environment surface. It can not be called a game when the stakes are so very high. The price of failure to thrive, to survive, is glaringly displayed in the bright light of day.

     Covered in ants and advertised by the curtain of flies that buzz in a coroner’s cloud the fallen sing a mute chorus to the vulgarities of a black reality. For every feather that takes to the current, for every song that rises in the morning light, there is a voice that is stilled and wings that drain into the soil forever lost to the warm flow of the air.

     A small black mound of feathers lies broken in the rain nourished grass. Beetles dine and ants labour over and on the small dusky hill. Blank eyes stare upward to a sky that can’t be seen and therefore is no longer coveted. A delicate neck, barely covered in feathers, stretches out impossibly fragile and empty of song. The fledgling that lies limp and broken on the bright green of the summer grass has bet on a long shot and come up short. It is a wager that we all make and while we might run hot for a span in the end we all pay out.

     There will be no long days of summer and crisp autumn idles followed by winter’s push to warmer shores for the earthbound. There is only this silent testimony to destiny and the law that binds us all.    

17 thoughts on “Earthbound

  1. Hey….
    I\’m putting you and Patresa up as "Featured Websites" right now…you both have differing styles of writing, and both very talented – unsung gifted writers *smile*
    You don\’t need to do anything, I just put up your link
    beautiful writing.


  2. Thanks so much for your comments on The Daily Show entry on my space.  I totally agree with you about satire and it\’s own way of teaching.  If we did not have satire and were not able to make fun of our elected officials, then where would we be?


  3. Your keen eye is matched only by your pen . Life is full of adventure for all creatures . This why I only believe in dogs and fat Chevys Lorna . It is far too risky counting on anything else.


  4. Hi Lorna,
    I found you through a mutual friend, Kathryn  Magendie, and so glad I did!
    This is an extraordinarily lyrical piece of writing, poetic really, and one which I thoroughly enjoyed reading – Thank You!
    If you have no objection, I think I would very much enjoy visiting again, to read more of your journal.
    Most pleased to make your acquaintance.


  5. @Kathryn
    My Internet has been a bit "wonky" this week (one of the very few downfalls of rural living) so I haven\’t had a chance to say thanks so I\’ll say it now.
    Thanks! =) It\’s always nice to be recognized!


  6. @Kat:
    I think that there is beauty in the completeness of the cycle…the larger picture. The small tragedies are heartbreaking.


  7. How beautifully, and yet tragically, you write. Your words are so lyrical, they flow easily through the mind as one reads them… and the emotions they invoke spike the meter from one extreme to the other…. gentle beauty marred by harsh reality… renewal of the circle of life, and the inescapable, or unplanned and unexpected certainty, of death. Wow.


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