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The Legend of the Night Peacock-Eyes
a story in hexameter
Katherine Rudolph
This book is dedicated to Ann and Alfred
Barnes
Springtime had come to the woodlands, Miss Prune waited under
the Hawthorn.
No one could say how she would appear, when the light
patterns sparkled,
She would be there. Something special would happen, some new
tale of wonder.
“You are the children, you three, who remember the stories of
nature,
In the wide world and in “Faerie”; believe in your heart, and
be daring
Spoke old Miss Prune, as they thought that indeed, it was
time to be telling
Stories that they could recall from the Castle of Natural
Wonders.
Under the Hawthorn tree limbs they would sit, listening hard
to the rustling
Leaves in the wind, and pass hours recounting those times in
strange places.
Shimmering stories of Krie, where a myriad of riddles
unfolded...
Seen in the magical pool, or through windows in Hawthorn
three branches,
Questions were always the key, to open these stories of
wonder:
So they could see underground
how-the-seeds-were-to-kindle-in-darkness...
Why-the-white-clover-adored-the-red-rose; the
undines-who-brought-healing.
Carrying leaves shaped like hands: they offered their
quickening juices.
Curing the child of her illness, assuaging the fever that
threatened.
Leaves-of-the-Alchemilla once served as a cloak for the
maiden
Gathering dewdrops of spring in a vessel of crystal. She
carried
Purified dewdrops to give baby Sam, who would later be
chosen
Bard and would carry a harp and a seed from the Fairy Tale
Temple.
He was to bring them back home when at last he had conquered
his muteness...
All the day long, while the sunlight shone deep and the old
Hawthorn listened
Yearning to hear, those old tales were recounted from
memory’s wellsprings.
Suddenly, at about five in the late afternoon, after
silence:
“Right on the tip of my tongue there’s another I’m sure!”
exclaimed Connie.
“Some kind of night flying moth – yes, the
Peacock-Eye-moth-in-the-Ice-Age!1
That is what Tasha once showed me; and she is still with them
as always.
Spark of the Peacock-Eyes! When we finally arrived at the
Castle,
Legends were told of brave deeds by the gnomes, and undines,
and the sylphs too.
Natural spirits of fire helped, and Krienols of old herbal
plant lore.
Tasha herself is a spirit of fire, a brave
salamander!
“Once I heard tell of that castle,” said Keith. “Are there
towers of wisdom?”
“Yes, they are like growing things. They tell legends;
there’s singing and rhythms,
Shimmering stories of Krie! From the windows there, I could
see pictures
Into the days long ago, ...when the Peacock-Eyes once rose
up, flying,
Laden with longing in bitter cold nights, in the Ice Age. The
flyers,
Seeking a tree, were to fly to a land where the leaves were
not freezing,
For they would find the good Hawthorns – well this is a
Hawthorn tree also!”
Magic it seemed to the children, named Keith, and Carol and
Connie;
– When Miss Prune held out her hand so that there a while
Peacock-Eye landed.
Lovely, and, silently still, as if holding the spell of the
evening.
Connie said, “Out of the sides of my eyes, I beheld on that
night.
While I was feeling the life of that night flying moth, I saw
Tasha
Come into view. Then I glimpsed how a window appeared in the
treetop.
– Suddenly shimmered a land full of snowfall and
glaciers: the Ice Age!
As I was watching and waiting, a story unfolded before
me.
Wonders of nature’s remembering, just as if I were there with
them:
Peacock-Eyes fluttered midst snowfall, long after the season
of courting
Sprightly the flyers had soared and pursued; the chase was
abating.
Daylight and nightlight were fading; but Tasha – fey being of
firelight,
Bade them fly onward: the glaciers had drifted to cover their
Hawthorns.
Southward e’re southward, they needed to fly for the sake of
survival.
For the tired flyers each wing beat was harder; but Tasha
gave courage:
“There is a place that is being
prepared by the Hawthorn tree mother.
Blizzards grow stronger, the
winds now blow harder: You’ll need to have food!”
Though they were tired, the moths kept on flying, far into
the evening,
Then through the night ‘til the day dawned on well-tended
trees, the green Hawthorns;
For in the southland was safety and shelter prepared by no
other
Than the first Hawthorn tree mother, so named, for she
planted the seedlings,
Meant to grow Hawthorn tree glades, such as often are seen in
the woodlands...
–Tasha had whispered in rhythm, by flickering flames in the
firelight,
How it was needed by nature’s life process to plant certain
seedlings.
Hawthorns had nourishing leaves for young caterpillars to
feed on.
Leaves and red berries would one day be used to prevent heart
diseases.
Healing mankind and preserving the Peacock-Eye moths would be
needed.
Guided by Tasha, the flyers had swooped down to land on the
Hawthorns.2
Chases were taking their course; for each creamy white female
alighting,
Came a tan-male soon to greet her. In many a leaf hidden
cluster
Egg-seeds would hatch for the new generation. The fertilized
females,
Utterly worn and expiring, had finished the yearly
life-cycle.
Tasha was greatly relieved; the migration had surely
succeeded.
Seeking to live in the seasons to follow, they’d flourish on
Hawthorns.
Silk from cocoons might be woven one day into garments for
humans.
–After a month came the hatching, then chewing in rhythm, and
Tasha
Led the young caterpillars, who ate their way all through the
summer,
Up in the third story rafters of nature’s own wonderful
nursery.
Etched in the Hawthorn tree branches. At first they were
black and quite homely,
Looking like worms, busy chomping and biting the leaves. Then
they molted.
Waistcoats of black changed to yellow with black stripes;
tight fitting, but comely,
Styles for the shedding of clothes, that they duly discarded,
emerging
Green with black stripes, and green boots still considering
fashions to follow.
Bite after bite, they kept munching the leaves of the
Hawthorn, then clumping,
Carefully clomping in boots, that could clutch and then
ripple together.
One sunny day without warning a hungry young starling came
flying.
He had decided to feast on the night flying females’ fat
famished
Brood. And what horror ensued! But a fortunate few crept to
shelter.
It was undoubtedly due to the clinging of creeping young
ivy,
Covering some of the Hawthorns. In tangles of leaves they
were hidden.
They just continued to eat until they felt the process of
molting.
Green and jet-black striped knickers transformed into glowing
light green ones
Fatter they couldn’t well be. With a black dot adorning
their costume
Green, they were wondrous obese. Said the one, ‘No more
wardrobe for us? Then
I’ll go bare naked, I guess?’ Said another, ‘Well then, I
will spin some.
On with the show or if not, I’ll turn in.’ So he left then,
deserting
All his fine eating with friends, he spun whirring and
buzzing and spurring.
Glands in his jaws were not clicking and clacking, like
clocks that were ticking –
Tock, ticking, tock in the night and through two long days
more he was spinning.
Soon all the others on stage began doing the same. And there
followed
Even more whirring, then silence... ‘til Tasha transformed
them again...
They had now spun the strong threads that provided their cozy
abodes.
Chrysalids hanging like hammocks were swinging secure against
blizzards
Winter’s cold night was approaching; outside blew the
blustering flurries.
Snowfall had covered the trees. Yet were wings
being made on the inside.
Tasha, her inner fire burning, kept kindled ‘til they had
turned creamy.
White was the female attire and light brown were the
bridegrooms’ rich garments.
While Tasha wove, she was humming, for all of the Peacock
night flyers.
Making up songs for the springtime, while gaseous bellows
were pleating
Petal-like folds in the woven spring fabrics. A purified,
patterned,
Bold transformation for Peacock-Eyes. Then the black stripes
were compressed,
One white-ringed dot in each fold, like eyes. Under the
indigo heavens,
Manifest, out of the cosmic sarcophagus, wings would emerge
soon.
Glist’ning and ready for flight, the beloved seeing eyes, the
night flyers,
Living to dance in the light-waves. So Tasha was glad to be
patient.
Spring did at last make her entrance. The dainty new legs
then appearing,
Pushed from the back ‘til they cracked the brown chrysalid.
Spreading
Wings in a glistening wet film such as petals of blossoms,
unfolded.
Started to dry and to flap, while encouraged by Tasha of
firelight.
After a natural process, the wonder of flight was
enacted.
Then came the chase; for quite quickly from under the
Hawthorn tree branches,
Flew out and frolicked the grooms, the night flyers in June’s
gentle twilight.
Tasha of firelight pronounced
them as one, after all of her efforts.
‘Fly on my pretty ones;
play in the moon-glimmer; show me your swooping;
Grace the spring night. Because
life is now manifest. Swing out and flutter
Over the flowers and hilltops,
illuminate nighttime with grandeur!
Here you may meet in the
shimmering moonlight. Now safe in the southlands;
Guiding your flight by the star
shine, unite with the fabric of nature.
Short is your time on the wing
while you’re weaving the rhythms together.
May all your bounty survive.
‘Til again you give chase and unite.
Then you will carry new
egg-seeds inside you, to lay on the Hawthorns.
Leaving your imprint preserved
in the volumes of natural matter.
As you expire, is your
fossil-form left – to be read in the future.’
–That is what Tasha revealed in
the window of natural wonders!
Feeling the life of that night-flying moth brought good Tasha
to visit.
“Thus I took part!” exclaimed Connie, “So that I could tell
how it happened.”
“Tasha of firelight was found to be living in ancient Ice
Ages,
So she still lives here today,” said Miss Prune, “and she’s
constantly helping.
She will be serving the needs and preparing cocoons, weaving
fabrics,
Gossamer wings, for as long as these Peacock-Eyes here are
still living,
Saved from the mealtimes of sparrows to meet and regenerate
egg-seeds.
Seasons then turn, and the times can move onward to new
transformations.”
Glimpsing faint movement ahead of the wing, they saw Tasha
just briefly!
She disappeared in the tree. “So you see: in
remembering, children,
Sometimes experience occurs: to rekindle invisible
secrets.
In the wide world and in “Faerie”, believe in your heart and
be daring.”
Spoke old Miss Prune, as they gazed at the Night
Peacock-Eyes’ starry dances.
Notes:
1) The Night-Peacock
Eye
The Viennese Night-Peacock Eye: (Saturnia-pyri)
presumably grew bigger, having migrated to Southern Europe (Austria
and Hungary) during the Ice Age.
The small Night Peacock-Eye (Saturnia pavonia) is found in
Switzerland in early April. It favours the Hawthorn leaf. This
story is a fictional account about the possible migration. Traces
of the Night Peacock-Eye have been dated to the Ice Age.
2) Hawthorn
(Crataegus) ...Its fruits, the mealy red berries are one of
the best remedies for heart disease. Their healing forces are even
greater than Digitalis. ...The berries are given in all types of
heart disorders: enlargement of the heart, inflammation of the
heart muscle, disorders of the heart-valves, and blood circulation
problems which are caused by a weak heart. ...It also helps in
cases of insomnia in as far as it is caused by too much pressure on
the brain.
Johann Künzle: Das grosse Heilkraüterbuch, Verlag Otto Walter
og Olten, 1945.
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