Death
by Swan
By
Meg Sonata
A
wing span eight feet wide? Is this the
creature that courted the Leda in Ovid’s rendition of “Leda and the Swan”? The story in the Los Angeles Times never
refers to the classical myth of the great swan who was Zeus in disguise, but
the proportions of the bird stun the reader.
Wings twice as wide as the bird’s height! For all of its four feet from foot to head,
it only weighs 30 pounds, on average, according to that article.
The
title announces the inevitable outcome when man takes on swan: “’Killer’ swan attacks Illinois caretaker
until he drowns.”
Who
should wonder that this animal can kill if it chooses? Those magnificent wings transform into shields,
clouds, and waves at the drop or shift of a feather. They harbor cygnets, plow the deep, and then
shift into daggers aimed in any direction.
No wonder, too, that the most famous ballet in dance history consists of
a tribute to this awesome beast.
Comparing the statistics, it becomes clear: This creature is almost all wings.
It
was this reader’s distinct privilege to grow up in the company of these
birds. On the tiny lake at the center of
Cassadaga, New York, these mythical animals turn up the minute the snow
releases them from their winter residence.
The impression created by their return is that they have come from the
snow—and will return to it when winter overwhelms the village. They are the snow, in all its killer capacity—and
beauty, too.
The
village next door, Lily Dale, New York, even reenacts the grandest ballet for
residents every time they walk down Dale Drive. At this next settlement, the swans swimming
on a second lake are black, black as the most perfect top soil—and the perfect
foil to the white of winter. Think of
obsidian in one location, and pearls in the next. Then, imagine both being available to the
traveler on foot who can span the distance without even overworking the
imagination.
Then
think of the poor human who got into a conflict with this bird in the LA Times
report. What chance did he have,
fighting for his life? Whole boats at
amusement parks take the form of this creature.
On carousels, you may mount one and ride, if you wish. The better part of wisdom would be: Don’t even try. They belong to the realm of Art, where
artists compete to render them in oil, marble, and everything but feathers,
because, who really understands feathers?
We
can crush feathers, preen feathers, and sock them together in a bed. Not once has humankind created a bird out of
these elements which could span eight feet and kill a man, if it took it into
its head or neck to do so. The necks of
such birds are used in combat between males, of course, and for attacking, if
they choose. But combine that lethal
garden hose with shields of wings and a rampant beak—what can a man do but go
under?
And
let him go under the waves. What will he
do there against paddling feet that can stand, grasp, or mount an assault upon
the air? The white flash we see as these
creatures mount the air should serve as a warning, which the classical authors
of mythology got right: We charge into
their territory—and they are infamously territorial—at our peril. The lake belongs to them, the winter and
summer, too. What remains for us to do
but shiver in their reflections?
For the
complete LA Times article, please see http://www.latimes.com/news/nation/nationnow/la-na-nn-killer-swan-attacks-chicago-man-until-he-drowns-20120416,0,1669472.story.
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