in my front yard today, a falcon swooped from the sky and pounced on an unsuspecting dove. First of all... what the fuck is a dove doing in my front yard? Second... what the fuck is a falcon doing in my front yard? Third... what the fuck? I felt like I was watching a discovery special on predatory birds... does that shit really happen in the suburbs? This dove was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. It was the purest color white. So pretty, so innocent, so pure.
I saw two things. That beautiful, breathtaking white bird, the blood staining it's immaculate feathers. Its ravaged body laying in the snow, twitching in excruciating pain as as the life was leaving it's body.
and the falcon... this predatory parasite of a beast engrossed in carnage, ripping out the flesh of this bird with an insatiable fervor.
and I thought about it as it symbolically encapsulates relationships... and I started to think would I rather be the falcon or the dove... would I rather be so beautiful, so pure, so trusting and innocent and meet metaphorical carnage... or would I rather be the falcon. cold, calculating, no remorse, but with the absence of vulnerability?
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2 comments:
Falcon.
Definitely. LOL.
;)
This is an interesting concept to ponder. After approaching life from many angles, both of the aforementioned included, I think that it takes more courage to be the dove. I also think that there is greater payoff on the horizon as the dove, because there is a chance that the dove won't be ripped to shreds. The falcon has a rather monotonous, even keeled life of brutality. I prefer the ups and downs of life because the downs make the ups more poignant.
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