Artemis and the Sea: Birds Shaped by Water

Summary

The text poetically describes the interplay between birds and the sea, illustrating how these creatures are shaped by the water's ebb and flow, and the changing seasons.

Abstract

The narrative "Artemis and the Sea: Birds Shaped by Water" is a lyrical exploration of the symbiotic relationship between avian life and the marine environment. It paints a vivid picture of how birds like geese, terns, ducks, and herons adapt to the shifting tides, seasons, and lunar cycles. The sea's influence is depicted as a powerful force that both challenges and nurtures these birds, with the moon's pull creating tides that dictate the rhythm of their lives. The text also touches on the transformation that occurs within these birds, likening the phoenix's rebirth through fire to the tern's repeated dives into the ocean. As the earth tilts into spring, the ice thaws, and the sea's subconscious awaits its emergence, the narrative emphasizes the constant motion of the ocean and its impact on the birds that depend on it.

Opinions

The author suggests that the true essence of birds lies in their dynamic interaction with the water, rather than in static repose.
There is a reverence for the moon's influence on the tides and, by extension, on the birds' behavior and survival.
The text conveys a sense of awe at the resilience of birds, particularly in the face of harsh winter conditions and the nurturing thermals of spring.
The narrative implies that the sea's rhythm and the cycles of nature are more reliable and profound than human-made timekeeping devices.
The author seems to appreciate the beauty and mystery of the natural world, as seen through the mythic imagery of mermaids and the majestic flight of swans turning silver at dusk.
There is a hint of solitude and introspection in the observation of nature's grandeur, as the sight of starlings forming a question mark is witnessed by a solitary 'I'.

Artemis and the Sea: Birds Shaped by Water

Only this, and nothing more… — Edgar Allan Poe: The Raven

Doubling, they fly as One… Wings in flight are not wings at rest, while the bird existing between them is something of its own kind. Geese know the weight of the world on land, just as they face wing-crushing waves offshore, but it’s the pull of water that shapes them. That water rises and falls through something more… When the sea rushes in and the land is drowned, birds are subject to the Moon, forever gathering and retreating, according to tides. Twice a day, every day, a world of water rises and falls for its lunar goddess. This is the world of Sea-Change. The phoenix is resurrected through fire, but it’s the diminutive tern who dives headlong into the ocean, vanishing, before bursting forth through sea spray, over and over again, until night brings rest. On no particular afternoon, the sea keeps the tern…

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December… — The Raven

Winter stills waves. A desert of ice remains, where ducks gather by the hundreds, a quacking island of black in the abysmal white, where each one keeps the other alive through feathered embraces. Snow geese flock to jetties, as if ice had dreamt of flight and just the right moonlight made it true. Wind blows waveless across the white, dusting the bleak sky. All the while, the sea’s subconscious flows darkly beneath, waiting to emerge, in manic rites to come… Earth tilts into Spring, cracking the ice and giving rise to merciful thermals, an updraft of wind that keeps gulls afloat with outspread wings and nothing more. Rest brings change…

Therefore the moon, the governess of floods, Pale in her anger, washes all the air… — A Midsummer Night’s Dream

When Artemis bids the sea’s retreat, herons survey the shallows, picking off luckless fish while walking on yellow stilts, with plumage as white as last month’s snow. Clams close their mouths and wait out the brutality of briny air, with nothing but a gull’s whim keeping them from that same bird’s gullet. When saltwater comes rushing back in, worlds of life return, turning such rigid mechanisms as clocks into rusty dullards, since oceans never stand still. Mermaids know this… Sea hawks carry on their sweeping courses from on high, with evening silhouettes not unlike a dragon’s. Haughty cormorants vanish beneath the surface, down, down to places unknown. Swans sail through the calms with mythic majesty, until mighty wings clap along the water and they take flight, before turning silver at Dusk. Just before April’s sun flashes green in its retreat, a thousand and one starlings swoop into a question mark on the pale horizon, there and gone, seen by nobody but a drifting ‘I’…

Hayden Moore