Sirens photos on Flickr

Bright sun dances across the shadow from the flowers, there is a cobra in the garden. It is brown, long, measured in its ways. It lives on the sunny side of the house.

I am standing, waiting to turn the corner, and I remember. I have seen her there, looked into her face, the tongue, seeing me, seeking me out. I have never seen her hood, but I know what she is, and she is, is at least, eight feet long.

I wait. She is gone, just warm sunshine, shadows flickering across the path. I move. No sign of her, she is gone, I move again, she is there. I feel her, but nothing stirs.

I am on the outside, side, facing the house, the veranda on my right, big welcoming doors, there is safety inside. A pergola extends, twisted boughs, leaves, full of fruit. The grapes hang, full, heavy, green and flashing gold, basking. In time, a sweet harvest awaits.

There is peace in the garden.

I take a step.

A movement, unlike any other, slow, measured. The birds are quiet. Slowly, she emerges from the shadow of the shrubs, under, near, beneath the willow tree. I can’t quite see. It is long, sleek, moving purposefully. It is her, the king. She with the venom, she with the lethal strike, she will judge if you are safe or snake.

I have considered having her removed, or even punished or locked away, but I cannot harm such a creature. She is my enemy, my protector, the eater of snakes.

Each time I harbor thoughts of her destruction, misfortune befalls me. I fall over nothing in the path, go flying into thorn trees on the trail, rip the skin from my arms and legs, the blood runs thick and heavy. This has happened not once, nor twice nor thrice, but so many times, in so many ways, that I need a diary to keep the count. I am so bloody and battered that I now no longer entertain such negativity.

I have noticed the lesson, it has caught my intention.

If it is an angel guiding me, then they certainly know the language of human, but I suspect it is my subconscious talking to me, and I do not know who my subconscious talks to, save to say, if I guide it into light, and keep it away from fear, then it brings me love and hope, or it brings me nightmares and pain.

She is stretched out in path ahead. I kneel. I look into her. I will not run nor interfere. I am reconciled to being kind and gentle to her.

There is an eagle nesting on our roof.

He swoops, claws arching, mortal combat uncoils between mortal foes. He lands. The snake glides toward him, she raises her head slightly. The eagle, large, flamboyant and majestic, lowers his head. They touch, top of head to top of head, beaks and fangs averted. Their heads press against each other, and I think I see them smile.

Strange, impossibly different, yet when pressed together, the feather and scale seem not so far apart.

A familiar figure appears to my left. He is the mender of hearts, he touches my arm, I understand, and he is gone.

Now there is no snake, no eagle, just two lovers joined who were once worlds apart.

Seems the outside does not reflect the heart, and there is often pain in being apart.

From "The Book That Dreams"

Mr Buckley does this so beautifully, never the less, I often rearrange this in my head. I would love to hear it performed on the piano with a female voice and violin to accompany. Usually would have suggest cello or clarinet, but it's such a soulful lyric that maybe a violin/fiddle would be better - might make the piano version a little longer :) www.youtube.com/watch?v=vMTEtDBHGY4 -

Sirens live here. by Alan Daniel

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Rocky outcrops seem to dot the harbour of Wellington. Must have been tricky in the days of sail powered ships.

Sirens by 'Olivier Jules'

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Sirènes florales multidirectionnelles by Michel Francon

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Siren song by Khaos Republic

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Siren by Antonio Jesús Jiménez Morillo-Velarde

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Siren, San José-Níjar, Almería, España