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| Illustration by Bill Worthington |
The card shows a wren upon her nest built upon oak, ivy, moss, and fern. She and her nest are hidden behind rock crags or standing stones. Beyond, you can see the waters of a lake and the shores upon the other side of it. It is sunrise after a long nights storm; lightning still thunders above. The wren, undeterred, hold a feather in her beak.
I step through the doorway and find myself sitting in a great oak tree. Its a bit crowded, as I am face to face with a bird and her nest, which are at my eye level. The wren hops on her branch, tilts her head, and looks at me. She then hops closer to place the feather in the palm of my hand. I look at it, and carefully hold it so as not to crush it. Its very tiny, and in this place I feel like a clumsy giant.
Now, once more, I must follow. She first checks her eggs. Her mate is on his way to take his turn, and she then flits through between the rocks. I scramble to climb down out of the tree-- halfway down I can reach the rocks. I squeeze through, and find myself on a shoreline of white, round stones. I look back and realize its a clever hiding place for the nest!
The wren is nearby, hopping from rock to rock. I know this shoreline! I've been on it in a dream before! I walk towards the wren as a bright flash overhead, followed by tremendous thunder, transforms the world for a brief span of time. Looking across the lake, I see the roiling waves. Its windy and all the world seems under threat. But the storm doesn't hate the land, it merely is... I realize the wren is telling me this, and I sit down on the odd 'beach' made of nearly identical white stones, thinking about how much her eggs resemble these smooth stones.
The wren prompts me to look at the tiny feather in my hand. I do, and watch as the wind makes it bend and twist. If I let go, the feather will fly away into the lake, to be drowned and exist no more as a thing of the air. I look up at the clouds, amazed at how black they seem. She tells me that I am like this feather. A delicate and precious thing that comes into the world, fragile and easily undone.
More lightning and thunder. I realize that both the chaotic thunderstorm and the beautiful sunrise with clear skies to the east are about the God/dess. A tremendous power over life and death. A great and broad mind that can be so overwhelming. The powers of the divine bring both birth and demise to us all, but not with malice. Its job is complex and incomprehensible. We are the tiny beings that come and go briefly into this realm.
The wren tells us what to do to survive and even thrive, in the face of such power, despite our puny and insignificant existence. She flitted back to the crack, and I followed, squeezing through and then climbing the oak branches back up to her nest. Her mate, seeing us, flies away.
Once I am back to my perch by her nest, she shows me what to do: weave my feather into the nest. I do so, carefully, as she tells me this is what life is about: finding a safe harbor and building a nest for our lives. We are to watch, and listen, and learn of life and of the divine powers, but always with a knowledge that we must be cautious and clever!
Ah- yes! I get it. I understand the teachings of the wren. I hold out my two cupped hands for her, she hops into them and I bring her up to my face to give her a tiny kiss on the top of her head as thanks. I then lower her to her nest and return through the doorway to my world.
END.
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