Tag Archives: #birthing

The vying

seeds-undergroundloveseries-manami-lingerfelt

A blaze of cyclonic fire, a blow torch of extreme has rampaged the Earth and scorched it bare. Nothing remains. No fragment of life exists on the blackened face scattered in trillions of smattering flecks of grey.

No birds of waking tunes or trains of clicks and clacks ferrying their freight into town. No roosters calling or dogs singing with clucking chooks as they lay their eggs.

In their place is the darkness that suffocates as a silent tightening, tourniquet.

And yet if you sit in utmost concentration in the stillness of this aftermath, the cleansing of the burn is obvious. Concentrate, even when fidgeting itches can disturb, and tune in to the unmistakeable pitch of the fresh and new and the faint whispers of a dawn about to break.

Glints of pink stained orange wrestle billowing, liquid cloud in the distance. That glimmer of sun’s warmth stirs our seeds, willing them to unearth.

Root tips begin to tingle … the emergence IS coming. Those seeds know of the birthing about to occur, of the potential waiting to applaud them.

They nudge and jostle to edge upwards, stealing past fractures in rocks opening and widening under the pressure of their shoving. The charm of those minuscule glimpses of light flickering through the friable soil is irresistible, their appetite for it is insatiable.

They tussle for prime position, vying to reach higher to break through the surface.

The darkness warms around them, the nurture of the sun’s warmth has hit. Ravenous eagerness ricochets and disrupts the birthing balance. Restlessness underground … a rumbling core.

 

Breathe, be patient little ones, the dance of birth into a bosom of fertile and Mother Earth nourishment will soon begin. The time is near for a creation yet unknown.

 

 

A whale’s tale

whale

It’s time. We’ve prepared, eaten well to fatten up. We’re ready for the pilgrimage that will grow our family.

We glide and porpoise north through cool as ice waters of the sub-Antarctic, sometimes rolling in ripples of grey water currents. Haunting howls orchestrate to our swim.

We’re south of great southern lands where we swim in pounding rains that drill into vehement waves. We’ve not done this journey in three years.

Waters grow warmer as those great southern lands grow nearer. It’s time to part our pod, to continue our migration as only us females. A good-bye lob of my tail fluke, indented after colliding with the cold, tough wheel of a boxy creature unknown. Such pain.

Groans and wails from our males. They will eagerly await our return.

We swim to the coastline where high wave energy builds, effervescence in my blubber. Swells and breaking waves, squawking seagulls nose-diving from cliffs commanding deep waters … a masking to distract any acoustically sensitive predator like the killer whale. It’s the perfect nursery.

It’s time. She’s coming. Such pain that contracts in my bowl of creation. My echoing moans, a solid breath erupts as a jet of water from me.

Deep squeals, contractions grow quick. Sharp. A tail appears. Breathe … water squirts from my blow-hole.

A black body comes through, a white patch of an underbelly, a fin … all five metres of her are free. Release.

Coos and sprays. A tail slap.

My calf suckles my milk. She grows. We fin and tail slap together, swim and lunge to the deep water by the cliffs. We dive deeper and surge up, spraying from our blowholes before back slapping down again.

Four months pass and my calf is ready to leave the nursery. My hunger is supreme – time to re-join the pod.

We swim to our waiting males, this Southern Right Whale mother and calf, and as a pod again, we journey back to the Southern Antarctic waters.

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