Nighthawk of the Annunciation
My kinship with the Nighthawk began with seeing them wheel around a church steeple in Sioux Falls after fleeing a dreary wedding party at thirteen. Recurring dreams of these emissaries find me deep at night, high in the treetops of our property where they sit on its limbs flittering their wings or glide across the starry sky. Far below curious townspeople shine lights into the trees attempting see what’s there. At times I am a nighthawk. No one ever sees me. The song “Harp Tree Lament” and the dream of a brass sextant merged with cubist guitar also inspired this portrayal of an inner world where prenatal blessing and life’s fiery green sap are one and Sophia women, Hermes, Kali, shamans, naked black men and a single Mexican trombonist inhabit the same chthonic realm.
