Fourth Movement: The Glen 1830. The Death and Flight of Alexion.


Joined January 2008

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Cullins, Skye, Hebrides, Scotland.

Words on the First Death. A Prayer for Alexion.

It ended in the cold apparently. With drum and pipe and the English priest complaining. A message would be sent with the Eagle. They all knew but no one mentioned. The age of enlightenment was here after all below the Glen. The clearances changed the immediate world from the rattle coughing of the old , to the sheep bleating of the young and the stone slow righteous anger of the mountain. All combined richly in one death.
How did I consider the role I apparently played? Was I known in her life? Am I indeed in this story of immortality’s promises? Was there a need for me then as there is a special need for her in my concious attempts to play the minor notes first?
Conventions and commitments show their dangerous and rude parts whatever the history . The only true courage is to face up to our failings with something like glee and rejoice we are no worse, or indeed no better. This was the only pure truth of those puberty dreams that I invented in my illness. There is no bravery if it is the only thing you can do. Afterwards, never come again until she said just now and now, Come to Me.
Alexion died in the cold and lonely just as she the first one I loved and loved me with those same bright eyes. With her went the choice of relating the ghost story of this failing throughout my ages.
The sleet cut the mountain slabs and the large wings beat slowly against a wind that was change intangible. Lifting into a changing complex sky. Predator died ignominiously with carrion poison. Eggs shattered and were collected for enlightenment under the revolution industry glass. The rest of us became impotent with it. Even as we earned no better than was deserved. The English priest’s insistant complaining was heard in the vaulted industrial halls of an Albion no one recognised, understood or wished for. In the shooting breaks of the not so common, the peat whiskey was drunk and renounced regularly.
In this future memory the red salmon river flowed forever over its silk falling. The Blackcock stood occasionally King of his own castle and the Eagle found there were not enough to continue. The wildcat and falcon hid until I discovered them in books given away as academic prizes. Finally going in search of these pathways that led to where she once nearly lived and finally lost, flew away.

© 2009 Ken Simm.

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