Back in the last century 1964 my best friend and I were walking through the woods of the Blue Hills south of Boston. Abandoned cow pastures overgrown with thorn thickets. Crows cawed beyond the dense tangle. We pushed through the copse and entered a meadow covered with thick grass. A church slouched to the ground, its steeple laying in pieces on the ground. On a dead elm hundreds of crows perched on the bare branches. Bone pickers.
"Satan," Chuckie whispered.
"THere is no Satan." Evil yes, but I was an atheist. We bleieved in neither God or Devil.
The countless black eyes stared at a large dog's skull stuck on a stick within a cabalistic circle of smaller skulls. I picked up a length of wood and smashed the skulls. The crows remained on the branches. Coal eyes on us. My friend and I backed out of the pastures. The thorns closed over the path like the fog over a mirage. We never went back or even told anyone about the crows or skulls. Till now.
Crows hold a special place in Celtic mythology once believed to be firends to the underclass as a familiar to the Phantom Queen Morrigan, a war goddess with the power of shapeshifting and befriended by the banshees. As the jealous concubine of the all-powerful Irish god, The Dagda, she offers prophecy and favor to heroes and gods alike. Odin's crows Huginn and Muninn are watching us all.
Still.
Beware Christians___
No comments:
Post a Comment