When I awake someday to fly they have all flown away

The swans have left Ceske Budejovice and while I am glad they spent the winter with us here, I find I miss seeing them twice a day, everyday. I miss them so much so in fact that when I went to Prague for the weekend and my friend Suzanne asked me what, if anything I wanted to do, my only response was "visit the swans."

As we walked down by the Vlatva on Sunday and watched the swans swimming gracefully up and down, I told her about some of my favorite Celtic myths, including "Baile and Aillin" and "The Children of Lyr" and the fact many Celtic legends feature people who are turned into swans. Her response to this was "Well it makes sense that you like Irish lit". I sort of laughed at this, said something smart-assed in response and forgot all about it, that is until the train ride home. I had to wonder for a moment, or several even, if my love of Irish lit came from my obsession with swans or my love for swans was due to some inherent obsession of Irish lit. However, I think it is far more complex than that.

It makes sense to think one has to do with the other. After all, humans being turned into swans is a reoccurring theme throughout Irish mythology and Yeats (who we all know is the love of my life) fills his poetry with swans and swan imagery.  However, I think it goes so far beyond these facts that I wonder if I can fully explain. If it were something as simple as interest in one because of the other, it really could have been any animal which shows up repeatedly in Celtic mythology: the crow, the cow. the hound, the deer. However, there is something so intrinsically calming about both of them to me. Like I said to Zuzka, "They are like heroin for my soul". When looking at swans or reading/discussing/thinking/writing about Irish lit I feel really peaceful, verging on euphoric. I think it has to do with the gracefulness of both.

I am not a graceful person. I trip, stumble, stagger and bump constantly. So things which, by their nature, are graceful intrigue me. So for some reason, and for as long as I can remember, I have felt swans are quiet possible the most elegant creatures in creation, with their long swooping necks, effortless gliding, and the way they hold their wings. Perfect. I feel the same way about the way Irish, especially Yeats, use words. To have such a masterful command over something with such permanence as words, which can linger in the memory long after they have been spoken or read due to their power and beauty, is so awe inspiring to me, that it makes sense how these two things are linked together, at least for me. 

I could go on with this forever, thinking and talking about why I love both so much, but at this point it just seems redundant. However, one last thing before I end. As we walked away from the swans I asked Zuzka if I could be a swan in my next life, to which she calmly replied "You were a swan in your last one". Best compliment EVER!!!!!!