The Magicians of the Dawn

I have always been a night owl, but over the past couple of years I've come to love the very early morning* when it's still dark and the bird-magicians are abroad, singing spells to bring definition to the world and ultimately raising the sun.

Don't believe in it? Fair enough. I personally have trouble believing in the mundane. Bird-magicians of the morning are as real as it gets to me.

* I actually don't call it early morning. I call it night until the light returns, because that's what makes sense, and I suspect it's what we called it until we got ourselves clocks. And that liminal hour when the birds take charge, doing their delicate musical magic, is far more enchanting to me than any midnight witching hour, because it's real magic, you know? Not just some tipping point humans imagine as if their timepieces have any bearing on natural reality at all.

Our arrogance and sense of racial superiority deprives us of so much magic and understanding of life, and of this world we share with the sorcerous birds and the myth-hearted animals.


In the quiet hours, the inbetween moments and the half-light, I sometimes like to write. My books are made from fairytale shadow and old magical songs. They speak about dreams, lost wishes, longing for something beyond the self, and always about love. You can learn about them here.

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