Blood on the Wind

Yesterday while out on my run I saw two birds fly into the path of a car. Only one survived. In a puff of feathers one bird's life was over and as I jogged the warm smell of blood was pushed into my open mouth by the breeze. Nearby the other bird sat in a tree warbling. It bothered me, the taste of blood in my mouth, a weaker, less coppery taste than that of my own, but the scent and taste was still that of life. Pausing in my run I turned back and, using a small set of sticks, removed the bird's body from the road. It was crushed and there was gore smeared on the pavement, the once bright brown eyes completely disappeared. Placing the body gently in the greenery I told it to rejoin the earth and someday they would fly again. Resuming my run I spat out the lingering flavour into the dust.

On My Knees

I'm not really a prayerful person. I rarely feel moved to pray earnestly or at length. More often an exclaimation or simple thanks passes my lips to a deity or just Creation itself. Following the rescued-from-kidnapping case in Cleveland, Ohio, however, has me praying to Artemis in a way I haven't in years. I pray to Her that the women and the little girl who have lived in such brutal circumstances for so long find healing and justice, that She will protect them from the brunt of the media circus that would, without thought or feeling, hurl itself upon them for a quick buck. I pray deeply and completely that the littlest of them, the one baby who lived of Goddess only knows for sure how many didn't, is able to grow from this undamaged, unscarred. She's only six and so far not a single word or image from her I've seen anywhere-this is as it should be. I pray she is allowed to be anonymous until she is ready to tell her story (if she ever chooses too) and not one moment before. Artemis is the protector of young women and children and surely She has been with these four from the beginning of their ordeal and I pray for many months from now. I pray that She sees justice done against the man accused of these crimes and that he disappears into a lonely cell for a very very long time, bereft of the things he loves the most. I pray that someday he too finds healing, though right now in my heart I admit that there is little for him but hate. Gracious Lady of the Silver Bow, so mote it be.