When did the red-tailed hawk become my totem? Perhaps it was in the glimpse of a past life, when the falcon-headed Egyptian god, Horus, appeared as my healer. For many years now, the hawks and I have had a connection.
On my commute to work, I would count the hawks perched in the trees at the side of the Thruway. Most ever counted: nine. Once I saw a bird mantling her prey. Once I saw a mated pair sitting next to each other on a branch, but looking in opposite directions as if embarrassed to be so close. I got into the habit of saluting each hawk I spied, and I still do.
Ladythorn is still my email, even though I no longer live at Ladythorn Place, the house we sold in January. The name suits me, as I see myself as female but prickly. At the old house, a pair of red-tails raised their young each year. When the chicks were fledging, they would fly from tree to tree, screeching to be fed.
Once I came upon three of the young hawks sitting on the road in our neighborhood, looking bewildered. They didn’t fly off when I drove by.
Here’s a poem I wrote:
She soars and screams
her raging cry.
Her razor wings cut the sky.
She sees the rolling world unfold,
And splits the dawn in plumes of gold.
Americanized: Rebel Without a Green Card
by Sara Saedi, Alfred A. Knopf, 2018.
This memoir is a real eye-opener for anyone who is unfamiliar with the workings of the US Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS).
Sara Saedi was two years old when her parents fled Iran. She didn’t know of her illegal status until years later, when her older sister applied for an after-school job. Samira, Sara’s sister, couldn’t work because she didn’t have a Social Security number.
The Saedi parents spent years trying to get their green cards. They even got a secret divorce in order for Sara’s mother to expedite her green card application.
Although the Saedis’ experiences with USCIS were terribly trying and difficult, and although Sara suffered with the constant fear of deportation, this family’s living situation was not nearly as dire as many of those facing ICE today. The girls were not separated from their parents. Money was tight, but they were not desperately poor.
For me, the most relevant part of this book was the “Undocumented Immigrant Refresher Course” at the end of the memoir. From visitor’s visa to applying for political asylum, the author takes us through the process of naturalization in the U.S.
Book III of the Karakesh Chronicles
by Kim Ellis
Illustrated by Matt Wall
“In the beginning, the land’s designs were formed with the Deep Earth Song. And in the beginning, the dwarves were given charge of the underneath and all its treasures. The Tuatha faeries arrived and took the air and the surface for their abode. The arrangement worked well until the humans invaded.” (p. 181, Awakening Magic)
Now, many years later, young Prince Emric must settle a dispute between the dwarves and the faeries or there will be war.
Morg, pictured above, is a leader of the dwarves.
Awakening Magic will be available this spring.
Meanwhile, the first two books of the Chronicles, Tangled in Magic and Guided by Magic can be found on Amazon.com and Handersen Publishing.
The Trials of Apollo
Book One: The Hidden Oracle
by Rick Riordan, Disney Hyperion, 2016.
In preparation for the workshop I’m co-teaching this summer (Sci-fi/fantasy writing for 12-14 year-old kids with the Hudson Valley Writing Project*), I’ve been reading books in that genre.
Rick Riordan is the brilliant writer who conceived of Percy Jackson, the main character in his first series, Percy Jackson and the Olympians. Percy is a demi-god, whose father is Poseidon and mother is human.
In Riordan’s books, readers get a lot of mythology, plus a clever sense of humor. Riordan makes references to popular culture throughout The Hidden Oracle. It’s fun to imagine with him the ancient gods like Apollo, and the mythical beings like centaurs and nymphs living in the 21st century.
Apollo takes credit for being the creator behind present-day artists and composers.
Here’s the opening paragraph:
My name is Apollo. I used to be a god.
In my four thousand six hundred and twelve years, I have done many things. I inflicted a plague on the Greeks who besieged Troy. I blessed Babe Ruth with three home runs in game four of the 1926 World Series. I visited my wrath upon Britney Spears at the 2007 MTV Video Music Awards.
Riordan’s book is a wonderful mix of mythology, history, and popular culture. The plot moves fast, from one dire situation to another, as Apollo, in the form of a 16-year-old human, tries to save Camp Half-Blood from the Triumvirate.
I may have to read Book 2!
Three of the resident herd huddled in the snow outside our window this morning. They belong to a group of at least eleven deer who make their home in the woods on either side of The Ridge. Last week, during the ice storm, the entire herd picked its way up the main drive of the complex.
These two in the photo are yearlings from last spring. I’m pretty sure I saw these twins as spotted fawns crossing streets in the village behind their mother.
“A deer’s home range is usually less the a square mile. Deer collect in family groups of a mother and her fawns. When a doe has no fawns, she is usually solitary. Male bucks may live in groups consisting of three or four individuals, except in mating season, when they are solitary.” (https://nhpbs.org/natureworks/whitetaileddeer.htm)
Too bad these lovely animals carry such a dangerous disease and are the bane of gardeners. They are so elegant to watch, and bring a bit of the wild right outside our window.
Two rival male cardinals live in the woods surrounding The Ridge. Seeing this one (sorry for the blur) reminded me of the old Leadbelly song Pete Seeger used to sing.
I was a fortunate kid to have been taken to Pete Seeger concerts in Los Angeles, back in the 1950s. My first memory of Pete Seeger is watching him perform Abi Yoyo from the foot of the stage. I was astounded that this grown-up man was hopping around on the stage, acting pretty silly for an adult. I can still picture the slim man with his banjo, high-stepping above my head.
Pete’s music followed me, or perhaps I followed it, throughout my life. When I was actually on stage, singing with him at Clearwater Festival, it was the completion of a circle than began many years before.
Hail to Pete! Good morning, Red Bird!