The Swan & The Raven
The Swan understood many things,
The crisp taste of cress,
The chill of a deep lake,
The comfort of the reeds,
A nest close to family and a small society.
She would glide serene across,
Barely breaking the surface beyond a ripple.
Her long neck arched and demure.
Her beak shapely and sure.
Her down plush and comfortable as the clouds.
She sang in greeting to the sun each dawn,
And relished each sunset.
The winding into purple twilight,
The rhythm of seasons warming and cooling
Quiet. Perfectly lovely.
Tranquil in its simplicity.
Mistress of the three planes of being,
Soaring in the Sky,
Nesting upon the Land,
At home on the Water.
She was noble and beautiful.
Her horizons were near,
Her being calm,
At peace in her stillness.
And then, the Raven came.
The Raven had flown far and fast.
Hers was a life of change,
Eternal restlessness.
The drive to roam and reach,
Always another pasture to inspect,
Another coast to admire,
Another day, different and daring.
Her feathers drank of the night.
She was a shadow against the sky and clouds.
Her stygian plumage fine and mysterious.
Her eyes keen and bright,
Her beak was sharp and clever.
Her reputation was likewise dark,
Rumors of deception or wickedness,
Slanders of her noble carriage.
Few knew her well.
She was comfortable in the bluster.
In the wild flurry and frenzy,
Of adventure and wanderlust.
Unbound by borders or authorities.
Her being was fierce.
Her nature wild.
And she was contented.
Until she saw the Swan.
The Swan says she grew up ugly,
At least that's what they said.
But she was just in the wrong place,
With the wrong crowd.
And now she phases in and out.
To be content, she is loud.
To be complete, she is quiet.
Swan says she's always tired,
But she's home.
It's all she's known.
This is where she's planned for,
Right?
The Raven says she's lonely.
Being free is delicious,,
Until you realize it's isolation.
You never grow familiar.
Never see a familiar face.
No one tells you what to do.
Who is there to watch?
Raven says she loves the motion,
It's the silence that cuts.
The Swan says her name is Svana.
Her first name doesn't fit.
It's witchy and trite,
While she is strong and unique.
Swan says her flock is small,
But it's hers.
How else could she navigate the distances alone?
The Raven says her name is Ravenna,
Mostly for the music in it.
Ravens don't really "do" flocks.
A gathering of Ravens is called an Unkindness.
Yet, the Raven says nice words.
Pretty and shining.
How else would others remember her,
When she leaves?
The Swan asks Ravenna,
"Where will you go next?"
And the silence spools between them.
Svana has time to reflect.
And realize,
She doesn't want to know.
The Raven doesn't want to leave.
She's never had a friend before.
Lone egg in her nest,
No sisters to sing to.
She never learned a song,
And makes up her own.
Svana says "stay."
And so Ravenna stays.
They are their own flock.
Two on the wing,
Found sisters.
Gone the Unkindness of Ravens,
They call themselves a Magnificence.
Because on their own, they are small,
Together they are splendid.
Resplendent in poise and beauty.
Ravenna is teaching Swan to fall from the sky,
In a dive like a stone pulled to earth.
Svanna is teaching Raven a song.
They are making the melody up,
Together they weave pieces of themselves,
Binding each other,
In delicate music.
It is growing colder.
The sun is lowing closer to the edge.
Frost will be on the ferns soon,
White glimmer on the cattails,
Silver on the reeds.
Svana knows their long summer is ending.
But where will she fly?
The other swans left ages ago.
So there's no tradition she must keep.
Freedom is terrific,
And terrible.
She's afraid but no longer alone.
And she knows Raven will be there.
Constant as the clouds.
Eternal as the stars.
Raven says they can forge a new path,
But in her chaos, she's unfamiliar with maps.
The new path is always calling,
Fresh with promises.
She's most at home in a foggy sky.
She sees best in shades of gray.
But Swan wants stability.
She understands absolutes,
Sky above, water below.
The borders provide reason,
Elsewise the world is mad.
They still bicker,
Like sisters often do.
Formless grey around black wings,
And drenching mist around the white.
Ravenna working on her swimming.
Svana refining her diving poise.
And thus they live,
In their flock of two,
Their Magnificence!