Constructing the Crane: It’s Alive, It Has Awareness!

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continued ….. its wings, so large that they stretch the length of its entire body from its breastbone to the shorter thin feathers on the backside, it’s feathers lying next to each other, slightly overlapped when not in use, like a tightly louvered fan pointing downward while standing.

In Flight

I picture its wings in flight the shorter round feathers at the back edge vibrating or fluttering through the air like the sensitive fingers of a pianist each in tune with the incremental movements needed to stabilize and direct the strength it takes to create forward thrust, their giant wings beating downward, pulling themselves upward or in graceful flight gliding through the sky two different parts of its body telling it what to do the breastbone and the long tail feathers telling it to rise up and up effortlessly higher and higher flying free over clouds of air they see, that we can only imagine.  

 I creep forward cautiously until we stand next to each other.  I sense a strangeness about its lack of movement, as if it’s in a trance. 

Crane’s Eye/Seeking Awareness 

I look closely into its eye, the iris a thin orange/blood red ribbon surrounding the the pupil so large it nearly fills the entire eye socket, a dark black pool without a flicker of life.

While looking into its eye, I think how great it would be to see some sense of awareness.  Something that would tell me the crane isn’t dead or dying when, suddenly it breaks out of its trance.

It’s pupil flickers, a spark of sunlight reflects off of the surface of the black pool.  The iris contracts, the dark pool grows smaller until it finds a focal point.

I see its eye tracking from place to place over my face feeling bewildered perhaps by my curious movements, the soft shapes and colors of my face, the black pool of my awareness filling his awareness of sights so different from its everyday world gliding high, looking down at ponds and streams, wading through water searching always searching to satisfy the hunger that gives life meaning.  The desire to live.

It’s Alive, It Has Awareness

Suddenly I know its alive!   It has awareness.  I feel a link between our searching ever curious minds.

continued … 

The Crane

UnknownThe crane had become a living, conscious being to me.  A friend I felt I had made a connection with.  

But, it didn’t matter what I said.  They insisted the bird could have blinded me with its needle pointed beak!   Then they said it was too sick to live!  Baloney!

I hated the excuses  they tried to foist upon me to justify the theft of life from such a beautiful living creature admired and marveled at while alive.   

This was adult thinking at its worst.  The kind of overly cautious bullshit thinking that so easily proclaimed the death sentence of this the magnificent creature I brought home for them to see;

with its gorgeous, long flight or stability feathers and long powerful wings, the soft tapered miniature red feathers on the crown of its head tripping about so easily in the breeze or lying flat as its powerful wings pulled itself  through the air its long neck retracted into a tight S for aerodynamic flight, the gentle curve of its  forehead tapering a foot or more  to the sharp point between its two eyes ever searching stereoscopically to find and impale frogs and small fish tossing its next meal into the air and down its gullet.       

… into an inanimate object its head and beak in profile against the sand, the black iris I had looked into less than an hour ago sensing its awareness, now covered with an opaque film its lifeless eye and head and beak attached to an inanimate object looking like a mound gray feathers lying flat against the sand even at that moment, being absorbed into the ground.

One and A Half Hours Earlier

With bicycle between the crotch of my jeans, I stood at the end of a lime rock road looking 200 yards into the past, my clothes still damp from having fallen sideways (with bike), off a dock, into oily dark water over at Jerry’s two hundred yards north along the shore of the bay.   when

riding by, something inside the boat had captured my attention.

I stopped pedaling to look more closely, lost balance, fell off the dock sideways, my head going under, a humiliating sight!  

A downstate fisherman gave his hand pulling me to the surface dripping wet his laughing voice along the way made it seem easy with laughing face he pulled us up first my bike, then me.  I rode away so humiliated I barely thanked the man.  

And now I stand with bicycle between the crotch of my jeans, at the end of a lime rock road while Gray, a three year old weimereir my constant companion and protector sloshes and sniffs her way through two feet of water thick with cat tails at the bottom of the swale running parallel to the one lane lime rock road I’ll soon be walking.  

 

 

And do you know what? continued …

 

I May Be Dumb But I’m Not Stupid!

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… continued .. The guy holding the dog says, ‘’No, we were talking about the dog.”

continued …

“Ohhhh,’’ i said with a serious look on my face as i limped past them anxious to get started on my paperwork.

I love filling out paper work especially if I have my favorite pen … the Pilot G2-10 which I forgot but i had my V-7, which is my second most favorite pen.

The exchange was starting to crack me up. My mind kept forcing me to picture the blank stares … or maybe confused looks … on their faces.

I really wanted to do the paper work.  But at the same I felt the tension rising to want to continue the interaction.   When the tension to interact with the world a tipping point is reached and all kinds of things can happen.  Mostly people get confused.

But I love to get people confused!  I figure I’m doing them a favor.  Being confused sets people up for suddenly NOT being confused.

Once they realize they’re not having a stroke or suddenly lapsing into Alzeimers they laugh in relief thinking that I’M the one with Alzheimers!  hahahahah!!  At this point I have to turn and walk away.

So, I tried to refrain from making any stupid comments about the dog, a nicely groomed pomeranian, its ears straight up with a look of yearning on its face.

I really wanted to get started on my … wull … you know .. paperwork.  But, I can NEVER resist petting a dog.

I found out the dog’s name was Emily.  When i asked if i could pet her the guy said, “Surrrre …. .”

Little Emily looked pleased especially when I scratched her chin with three fingers like i was playing flamenco guitar and told her how pretty she was.  Her ears were lying flat and she was making goo-goo eyes at me.

As I turned the man chuckled and said, “She’s a noisy little thing,’’  at which point I almost turned and began choking the dog.  I could just see it’s little tongue curled, suspended between it’s upper and lower teeth it’s eyes all bugged out, both thumbs pressed against its noisy little voice box!

I HATE YAPPY DOGS!  Wull, I didn’t say it out loud!  I might be dumb but, I’m not stupid!  But once again, I had to refrain myself.  I smiled and said, ‘’Awww.’’  I felt a smirking sound come out from my throat.  I hoped it wasn’t too loud.

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