the creation of the birds

What is alive and what isn’t and what should we do
about it? Theories: about the nature of the thing. And of the soul. Because people die. The fear: that nothing survives. The greater fear: that something does.
—  Richard Siken, excerpt of The Language of the Birds from War of the Foxes

Unfairly maligned as sex pests in recent internet videos, Satin Bowerbirds have in reality a largely-celibate society. Rather than waste their time with breeding the next generation, the bulk of this unusual bird’s civilization revolves around the creation and maintenance of small shrines dedicated to gods yet unknown to humanity. That said, it is true that a very small minority caste of these birds are kept busy “getting busy’ to ensure the continuation of the species, but they should be recognized as extreme outliers and therefore left uncounted.

Edmund x Reader: I understand

This is a little something that popped into my head this morning. It isn’t a request, but I thought I’d post it anyway :) It’s my first imagine set during the War (1940s), and Edmund and Y/n go to the same school. I kind of got the inspiration from the scene in PC where Edmund stops Peter’s fight, and I switched it? Does that make sense? Let me know if you like this!

“Hey Eddie, you hanging out with book brain again?”

You looked up from the pages of the book you were holding. Three of the boys in your class were standing outside the school, sneering at you and Edmund.

“Go away Michael.” You said quietly, turning a page. The tallest boy of the group put on a mock-apologetic front. “Oh, I’m so sorry, am I bothering you and your little boyfriend?”

Edmund, who had been awfully quiet for the past minute, stood up suddenly. His schoolbooks fell onto the front steps. “She said to go away. Why are you still here?”  

Michael took a step forward, challenging Edmund. “What, you want to fight again? You want to get another bloody nose and have your darling older brother came to tell me off? Will you go running to your mummy?”

You saw Edmund’s jaw clench.


“No no doll, I can handle it.” The boy said, shooting you a fake grin. “Edmund, I apologize for my rudeness; After all,” He began again, tilting his head,

“You haven’t even got a mummy to run to.”

That was it. Edmund shoved Michael into the two other boys, the force he used making all three of them fall into each other.

“Edmund!” You yelled, attempting to stop your friend as he lunged at the boys. You set your book on the stairs next to Edmund’s things and scurried over to pry him off of Michael.

“I’ve-g-got this, Y/n,” He said with a muffled voice, taking a breath every time he hit his classmate. But he was outnumbered.

One of Michael’s cronies grabbed Edmund by the shirt, pulling him off his leader and punching him square in the ribs. You gasped, taking a step back. There really wasn’t anything you could do.

As you turned around, you noticed a crowd beginning to form around the fighting boys. 9th and 10th year students gathered with excited looks on their faces to watch the brawl. There was whispering all around, only drowned out by the yells and grunts coming from the center of the now fully-formed circle.

The whispers turned into chants of “Fight! Fight!”, and the small grunts turned into shouts and screams.

You had had enough. Apparently, someone else had too.

“Peter! What the hell are you doing?”

The oldest Pevensie jumped into the mess of bruised eyes and bleeding lips, tearing his brother away from the others.

“N-no Pete, I can handle this-stop!” Edmund struggled against Peter’s grip, pulling at the air as he was torn away from the center. “Peter, you bloody arse!” He shouted, pushing his brother away as he disappeared behind the crowd. The three remaining boys in the middle toppled over one another, not noticing Edmund had left.

“Blundering fools.” He muttered under his breath, pushing people aside to make his way back to the center.

You let out a sigh of relief, grabbing Edmund by his shirt and pulling him back towards you, away from everyone else. “Y/n, let me do this! I don’t need-” Edmund’s sentence was cut off short by you knocking the wind out of him.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again, do you hear?”

You buried your face into his shoulder, squeezing his limp body tightly against yours. “Please don’t.”

Edmund let his arms fall around you as you sobbed into his shirt. It wasn’t a conscious descicion; it just felt natural to do so.

“Y/n, I understand you were worried but-”

“No.” You said firmly, pulling away from him again. “You think this was just another fight, don’t you? That because you fought in battle…” You trailed off, releasing his shirt from your grip.

“Is that what this is about?” Edmund said softly, looking over your shoulder at the oblivious crowd encircling the three fighting boys.

“It always is.” You croaked out, biting back a sob.

“I watched you almost die, Edmund. I saw the life fade from your eyes countless times and I-” You took a breath.

“You don’t have to explain.” Edmund assured you, tucking your head under his arm. “I understand.”

“You don’t.”

I do.” He pulled away from your embrace. “But we aren’t in Narnia anymore, love.”  He said the last bit almost sadly, as if ‘anymore’ was his sealed fate.

“Just…promise me you’ll stay safe.” You muttered, half to yourself and half to Edmund.

“Only if you do the same.”

And for the first time, Edmund did something that felt almost like second nature: He kissed you.


The Florida scrub jay is omnivorous, eating nuts, seeds, insects, frogs, turtles, lizards, snakes, baby mice, and even sometimes the eggs and nestlings of other birds.  Acorns are a particularly important part of its diet; during the fall, jays will hide thousands of acorns to be eaten through the winter, usually by burying them under a thin layer of soil.  Many of these acorns likely go uneaten and may sprout, meaning the scrub jay is an important agent in the dispersal and creation of oak trees and forests.

Ymir Aesthetic

Ymir is a hermaphroditic giant, and the first creature to come into being in the Norse creation narrative. Odin’s two brothers, Vili and Ve, killed Ymer and fashioned the cosmos from his corpse.

“From Ymir’s flesh the earth was created,
And from his sweat the sea,
Mountains from bone,
Trees from hair,
And from his skull the sky.

And from his eyebrows the blithe gods made
Midgard, home of the sons of men
And from his brains
They sculpted the grim clouds.”

Born alone, we will go to our graves alone, so then why do we not take some time out in the midst of our lives to be alone?

Sometimes a bit of solitude is needed for spiritual growth.

Go to your favourite place or sit under a tree - any place where you find peace and lie down and just be.

Listen to the Qur'an, listen to all those things that you normally miss during the day; the sound of birds, the wind in the trees, your heart beating.

When you do this, everything leaves you. Your mind is free from thoughts; your body is free from tension.

This is your solitude.

This is when you truly feel detached from the dunya and anything that you do in this moment feels more meaningful, it impacts you more deeply, it holds more value.

It’s small and insignificant but wallah, it brings peace to the heart and contentment to the soul just contemplating over Allah’s creation.