All The Birds

[smokingboot]

This is how my mind comforts me; with due apologies to True Thomas of Eildon.


Once upon a time, there was a woman who died.
Just before it happened she put on a green dress and laid herself out on the ground, covering herself with a little shawl so as not to die cold. She lay down under a tree and as the birds drew close, told them they could take bits and pieces for their nests or themselves once she was gone. Sure enough, after her last breath, all the birds came. Some took locks of hair, some pecked away scraps of skin or flesh or clothing, but each left a feather to cover her bones. When she woke, she betook herself to the gates of Heaven.

'Oh daughter, I regret,' said St Peter at the gates, 'your cloak came from those murderers Raven and Hawk and such thieves as Magpie and Jackdaw. How can you come in here dressed like that?'

So she went to the gates of Hell.

'We are not select here,' said Satan, 'but I cannot help noticing you are clad in the garments of that wretched peacemaker, Dove, and Robin Redbreast the valiant, and the Hen who loves her chicks so well. Such reminders are the last things we want in Hell.'

Confused, the woman wandered for a while til she found a lost track by a tree that seemed familiar. She travelled along the track even when it led beneath the Earth to a great river of blood in the darkness under stone. She waded across to find that on the other side the track rose up once more, leading to a fine scented orchard where the trees were rich with blossom and fruit together. Here she took care not to eat. Then day and night gave way to a delicate gloaming where primroses and bluebells grew in a great wood on the hills. All the first stars were watching, and there she stayed for time and time.

It was only when she looked back that she recognised what a long way she had come.

'Is this home then?' She asked of the sun rising, and the moon that sparkled above the ocean.

'Look down and see,' came the reply. And when she did, she noticed that all her old scraps and bones had fallen clean away and her body was small and light with glorious wings.

So she rose into the morning and sang.

Comments

[smokingboot]

Thank you so much :-) I wrote this, though the description of the trail the woman takes is based on a 14th century ballad, itself based on much earlier folklore from the Scottish borders regarding the way to Fairyland.

I love your icon!