Above the Spring Revelry

The winter had been severe and had frozen the ground. A nomad cloud shook off its accumulated snow, and the land was cold, harsh, starving, as was every living thing on it. The cold bit to the bone, the frost burned the skin. The land was still... bones met skin once more, reunited in pain, in hunger. A starving dog limped across the frozen earth, desperate and tortured.

There is a lull.

A warmth again breathes hope onto the land and once more comfort and beauty are found and though the winter has been long and harsh, the spring has justified the sacrifice and toil and suffering of so many. The sun is reunited with its beloved earth, they beam in radiance, and their love is bountiful, joyful. Now the flowers begin to bloom, stray bees buzz, and the cattle and horses grow fat once more, every living being united by the revelry of beauty and the easing of their burden. The dogs, whose skin had stuck to their bones, and who had frozen and suffered all winter now grew fatter, and now bathed in the sunlight full-bellied, calm and happy, unbothered by still-healing scars. Powerful streams burble, wind and flow, shaken from their slumber, carving into the grassy plains, their thaw melted and now were soft as velvet. The birds echo one another in celebration, filling the forest with song rich, rich as ever, celebrating the triumph, celebrating survival and endurance and prevailing.

A new clutch had been born, in this false spring and before the final blizzard, when times were yet scarce and difficult though hope had taken root among the forest. The mother chirped ecstatically at their hatching, her suffering placated, and delighted by her achievement – the babies were small, innocent, needy and scruffy in their newborn down, chirping incessantly. Her labour was great, and welcome. Amid the icy winds she waited for the slightest movement which indicated prey, resting rarely and returning with as much as she could find to feed the babies.

The warm spell had brought out the eagles too. A baleful cry from above incited a chorus of chirps, alarmed – hunger was no longer the greatest fear. In the cold blue sky, the mother saw the eagle in its fearful majesty, powerful in aspect and hungry, hungry as all things are, deprived by the winter. How cruel this hunger is, such that it kills and drives to kill, such that it gnaws ceaselessly at wills and hearts, a parasite immortal. She navigated the treeline with caution, branch to branch, darting for food briefly before returning to the safety of cover, her hunting impeded and overshadowed, her attention divided between prey and predator. For her; for her babies; until the end.

The nights yet remained cold and long – feathers and newborn down which had been shed insulated against the greedy frost, and the babies nuzzled into their mother to escape the harsh bite – crowding under her wing, and into her flank. Strong gusts woke the mother; fear rarely gave her rest. She nuzzled the clutch -they were silent as they slept, warm and needing nothing. The frigid night encircled them, ever larger and larger around them in both directions until at its peak it once again receded, taking the slinking frost with it, bringing new warmth and begininng and new suffering.

The welcomed warmth did not hold. It was marched upon by an army, one of stalwart resolve and iron will, inevitable. A blizzard edged upon the horizon, masses of clouds heralding its descent – the mother felt it in her feathers; they stuck and frazzled such that she remained in permanent discomfort, her protective wing sheltering the babes, her other pressed firmly against her side agaisnt the chill and there was warmth in their nest, a bulwark against the world she seemed to shield her children from so much yet who had already become enslaved by its cruelty, plucked at by an ever-consuming, unshakeable hunger.

The final search for food was frantic and desperate as the winds picked up and swelled and shook the trees and the ground and all that could be shook. Chaos descended into the forest, as did a terrible snap of cold. She arrived to the nest with what she could, nuzzling the babies and knowing by cruel, harsh experience they could now only hope and hope they did as the sky’s massacre tore through their home, through the forest, tore at their minds and ravaged their senses, and up high on the tree, infinitely daunting, imperceptive of the height, all they could do was press against one another, comforted by their mutual warmth, spurred on by hope learned from their mother, the overcoming of this harsh affront as one, and the snow lay heavy and thick, and the unforgiving winds pounded aggressively, and the air stood heavy with tumult, the sun shone in vain, obscured, the warmth grew distant and missed as hungry bellies grew colder and hungrier and colder.

There is a lull.

As all things the blizzard passes, a joy returns once more. Winter is over and the spring again breathes hope onto the land. The flowers and plants bloom anew, growing in death, filling the warm air with sweetness. Creeks and ponds and rivers and streams wake again, their babble joining the springtime melody. The insects buzzed and hummed, distant and near, the families of cattle and horses and dogs were satisfied as abundance descended and the land celebrated and rejoiced - if ever there was evil it was gone and now only goodness and hope and calm remained and the flourishing forest floor, nourished by winter’s generous cruelty lay teeming with life, the dirt and its populace ate a bundle of earth and twigs and feathers and four babies young and never hungry again with broken necks and silent, together, and in the clear blue sky at peace and amidst the warm, subtle wind, above the spring revelry a lonely bird sang its grief, screamed its grief, a mother’s grief, alone.