Prophecies and Playful Birds

Other people’s dreams are rarely that fascinating, so I’ll try to bear that in mind as I write. I dream vividly, unlike my husband, who claims to remember nothing, apart from the occasional surreal adventure, involving, wouldn’t you know it, car chases and shoot-outs! I remember atmospheres more than incidents – sometimes spooky and disturbing, sometimes joyful. Sometimes I awake with a sense of deep loss, although for what I’m not sure. Recently I’ve been dreaming of kingfishers (well, twice). A stretch of shimmering water, a close-up flash of a bird, all jewel colours and bright eyes. I’ve duly read up on the mythology of the kingfisher, that harbinger of the eponymous Halcyon days, when the bird breeds in the calm waters and the world enjoys respite from winter. I’ve read the myth of the original Alcyone, changed into a Kingfisher and forever swooping plaintively over the waves. I also read with interest that there is a link with my favourite constellation, the Pleiades, as one story has it that the original seven sisters were changed into kingfishers before taking their appointed place in the heavens. Cait O’Connor, (why can't I get a link to appear?), told me that Kingfisher in Welsh is Glas Y Dorlan – blue of the river. How beautiful. Maybe this all has some significance to me; I have been feeling mellow lately, with my husband no longer constantly away from home – I feel like the family is back in shallow waters, after the storms, paddling happily.

Yesterday K and I saw a kingfisher by the shallow stream that runs through the village, as we were walking back from dropping J at school. I saw the sudden, unexpected flash of colour and grabbed K, willing him to reappear. He did, this blue of the river, diving in to catch a fish, showing off. My daughter acknowledged his beauty nonchalantly, but was disapproving; censorious by nature, she thought he shouldn’t have snatched the fish. I just smiled at him in delighted recognition.

Unfortunately, last night I dreamed of a tiger – huge striped flanks appearing through the roses in the garden, a cruel velvety death awaiting us if we dared to step outside. I woke sweating and terrified to the imagined sound of it’s roar. I hope my foray into prophecy isn’t repeated.