As my light becomes dark

I intertwine my words and vision into woven light

Friday, September 24, 2010

Golden Kisses

       As the sun rose, the Native American Navajo tribe members would rejoice to the sun
Bluebird said  “Get up my grandchild,
 its dawn” it said to me.

I was born in Spring.  Gold shades mixed with orange of the sun, as it began to fade as I came into the world, the late afternoon breeze caught in the oak trees that lined the street. You died when I was one year old.  You left behind a bluebird necklace for me.  A little bird of cobalt blue stone, with twinkling silver backing.  So small, and delicate.  You gave me the necklace when I was born.  It was just for me.  Is it because of you that I love Spring?  Did you rejoice when I was born?  Just like the Native Americans did for the new dawn?   We had just met and then I lost you, you died.  You died having known me, having loved me.
But I don’t remember you?
As I grew I saw photos of you, and when I look at them I think I know you, your warm face, smiling, a crooked upturning smile, deep coloured eyes and a long slender neck.  I see photos in black and white of you holding my father when he was also one year old, I look like him, smiling with complete freedom, sparkling eyes, full of wonder and excitement, sun hitting his face,  filling me with warmth, colour felt amongst the black and white.  I hear you were my father’s favourite grandmother, he called you Nanna, and I call his mother Nanna.  Stories tell me he used to ride his bike for miles to see you.  Nanna now lives in your house and she drinks from your tea cups, rimmed in gold.  I loved watching her drink from those when I was a young girl.  I imagined what gold would feel like on my lips.  I have photos of her holding me and she is wearing a bright red jumper, and I am smiling, full of wonder.  I am only one year old. 
I wonder if you loved me like he loved you. 
I secretly would play with the necklace.  Mum said she was saving it for me for when I was grown up.  She said it was special.  I knew how special it was because it was hidden away in a draw, a draw of wonder where Mum kept all the special things.  The necklace was special because it came from you. I remember when I took the necklace. I opened the draw and all these beautiful things came flooding out, the smell of incense filled my nose, catching my breathe, small beautiful images of the things Mum kept in there, there were little bowls and pieces of smooth coloured glass, letters written from her mother, her distinct curvature writing, a statue of St Christophe, protect the travellers, and there was the necklace, in a little leather covered box.  Holding it in my small hands, I slowly opened the lid; the bird lay flat on the silk backing.  The iridescent colour of blue shining, it was so beautiful.  Why did I take it?  I held the bird in my hand, tight, drawing breathe and then running from Mums room to mine, I remember just holding it and looking at it.  It was my bluebird.  The bird released from the cage.  It was the bluebird you gave me and I was ready to have it. 

I wonder where you are now little bluebird?  
What are you telling me lost little bluebird? 
Are you telling me much more than the lack of your presence?  Can my renewal exist without you in my life?  Will Springtime come again?  Is this showing me much more about my broken spirit, my broken happiness?  Did your grandmother know that when she gave me symbol of happiness that it would slip through my grasp?  Why can’t I remember how I lost you?
One day I hope you fly home to me

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