Today, I am happy to continue in the vein of celebrating some of the wonderful women that I am lucky and blessed to know.
Today is the birthday of one of my most magical, mystical girlies - sometimes I almost feel as if she is an imaginary friend. Those of you who know me well know that sometimes I can be closer to this kind of friend than any other. I seem to see her often in shifting shadows - not the scary kind, but the kind that turn the forest floor into a chiaroscuro of dancing light and shade, the kind of shadow that hides the rabbit from the hawk. And sometimes she's the shadow of the hawk... She is the inscrutable Crowgirl*.
I work with her everyday, but I see her rarely, and though I've known her now for years, there is still so much that I don't know, and I am looking forward to patiently** learning. It is definitely worth the wait. Her mystique is sweet and sad.
She is piercingly intelligent, uniquely beautiful, genuinely mysterious (without trying***. bless her heart, I think sometimes that she wishes she wuzzn't.), she is clever, talented, loving, optimistic, generous, passionate, broken-hearted, fierce, and above all, one of a kind. Her soul has wings, big enough to fill the sky, and dark, but with an irridescent shimmer like the northern lights. My wish for her birthday is that more of my friends could know her better, that I could coax her out of her shell, into the light, just a little more often. Selfish me, baaaad kitty that I am, I want to enjoy her more, and I want to share her. I think she has no idea how wonderful she really is, and I wish she would let us celebrate her more.
So here, at least I can sing her praises, and reveal her to you all just a little.
Happy birthday, Crowgirl. Thank you for making me a special part of celebrating your young heart and your old soul!
veryvery BIG fat love,
-sambolina, queena the geeks
(here is a very good poem for this very good day!)
CACOPHONY OF CROWS

We turned, and leaned against the world.
I rested there, with my eyes closed,
even the eyes of my eyes closed,
while the fray of my nerves
lay fallow and healing.
The earth itself turned; the red dirt
leached and emptied,
long after the fertile fire had gone out
and my face was painted with its ash
and broken seeds.

My little love, it was such a long winter.
Even after the Equinox, the earth refused
to be dried out. The rains kept coming,
and that hanging chill, even in early June,
refused to leave the air or the fields,
still left dormant.

At market, the farmers say
no seed will take in the running rains,
the floodplains created by the thaw,
or within the chill itself.
When they say,
"the growing season will come in her own time,"
the tone is less of statement and
more of simple prayer.

Above their voices, I could hear the crows.
When I opened my eyes and left the leaning
against to stand along the axis of the earth,
I could see them in the trees.
Beneath their wings was the sky, a blue
too enormous to be owned by a name.
I could feel the sun, finally,
in my hair, unbound.
The wind was there in it, too…
talking to her,
almost whispering.

-Dora E. McQuaid

and here are some more special crow poems, sites and art, just for you!


*in this comic, she's the one next to me in the board meeting, thinking about the knife. :)
**ha! me! patient!
***we all know how yukky the opposite is. ugh. i had a professional poseur aquaintance in college who said (yes, out loud) "i want to be cloaked in an air of mystery." in my opinion, that's kinda' hard when you're cloaked in an air of stale cigarette smoke, old ramen dishes and ass.