Blackbird

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise

Blackbird fly, Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.

Black bird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
all your life
you were only waiting for this moment to be free

Blackbird fly, Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life

You were only waiting for this moment to arise

-why, the Beatles, of course

Bewildered

To invent a person.
Not to create, not from nothingness.
But there, in existence,
in shadow.
Sharp edges on his face
and such a tiny light in his eyes,
but
enveloped in shadow,
faded into the crowd.
No one notices but me.
And because I noticed,
he is mine to invent.
I give him a name.
I spell it out for him.
He says his name, and suddenly
it's his.
I
can coax a smile from his lips.
His laugh
mercilessly
ridiculously clear
can be mine.
The light that plays in his eyes
that was once only a tiny light
that was once only mine to notice
suddenly...
will not leave my thoughts.

And there it is.

I thought I had invented him.
That he could be mine
through the heart I unburdened...
No.
Because now I am captured
no kidding.

Now what can I do?

The Invisible Child

"You all know, don't you, that if people are frightened very often, they sometimes become invisible," Too-ticky said and swallowed a small egg mushroom that looked like a little snowball. "Well. This Ninny was frightened the wrong way by a lady who had taken care of her without really liking her. I've met this lady, and she was horrid. Not the angry sort, you know, which would have been understandable. No, she was the icily ironical kind."
"What's 'ironical'?" Moomintroll asked.
"Well, imagine that you slip on a rotten mushroom and sit down on the basket of newly picked ones," Too-ticky said. "The natural thing for your mother would be to be angry. But no, she isn't. Instead she says, very coldly: 'I understand that's your idea of a graceful dance, but I'd thank you not to do it in people's food.' Something like that."
"How unpleasant," Moomintroll said.
"Yes, isn't it," replied Too-ticky. "This was the way this lady used to talk. She was ironic all day long every day, and finally the kid started to turn pale and fade around the edges, and less and less was seen of her. Last Friday one couldn't catch sight of her at all. The lady gave her away to me and said she really couldn't take care of relatives she couldn't even see."
"And what did you do to the lady?" My asked with bulging eyes. "Did you bash her head?"
"That's of no use with the ironic sort," Too-ticky said. "I took Ninny home with me, of course. And now I've brought her here for you to make her visible again."

From
Tales from Moominvalley
by Tove Jansson

A Word or Two long awaited

Quincy dropped the flowers one by one on the table. They were all from Marguerite's over-abundant garden, and Ceci's duty was to arrange them artistically in a tall crystal vase that sat in the middle of the table. Unfortunately, some of the flowers had been decapitated or de-petaled thanks to Quincy's absent-minded expertise, and so the arrangement appeared rather sparse. Ceci had to stifle a grin. Quincy's antics no longer annoyed her like they used to. And all in all, she appreciated his efforts, as he was a boy, and most boys would rather have swallowed a toad than agree to pick flowers for a party. She really couldn't complain.
This was the last of the flower arrangements, the last in a long process of decoration and preparation. Marguerite, lovely and flustered, would not stop moving about, straightening this and fixing that and smiling at everyone.
Early guests appeared and were ushered through the sweet smelling parlor out to the beautifully furnished lawn. The garden seemed to spill across the open grass and the soft space was carpeted by rugs and billows of fabric. A long banquet table stood beneath a canopy of red and yellow leaves, the very beginning of autumn color.
Ceci sighed as she watched Marguerite smile and greet her guests, and thought how well happiness suited her features. Mr. Brooke bustled joyfully through the doors and out onto the lawn, kissing Marguerite smartly on both cheeks. Ceci laughed heartily.
Three violinists appeared, and Ceci took charge of ushering them to a corner beneath the shady branches of the canopy.

And there appeared Christopher, looking unusually tall and beaming gloriously. The moment he spotted his Marguerite, he swept her into an unabashed kiss, wherein all the guests cried out that they should share the first dance.
And so the lawn was cleared of obstacles, and the sweet couple waltzed in so close proximity that Ceci could barely distinguish the two; they seemed to be almost one person.

Sam Redford asked Ceci for a dance, and then his cousin William. She danced with Christopher once--he felt it his duty to tear himself away from his bride-to-be for a dance with her closest friend-- and once with Mr. Brooke, who bounced along on his two left feet. A few others asked her, but she turned them down. She wanted to fade into the background and observe rather than partake; she wanted to soak in this happy, care-free celebration. After all, it was only a moment in her lifetime; she wanted to remember every detail... before things changed and she had to say goodbye.
The sky grew darker, and candles were lit all around the little party. They sparkled and flickered like warm stars and their little lights cast glowing spots on faces and hands.

Suddenly, a streak of green flew past, followed by a streak of pale blue. Ceci sat up straight.
"Why you little!" Pearl squealed, her pale curls flying behind her.
Quincy laughed wickedly as he fled her wrath.
Ceci set her wine glass on the stool by her elbow and slowly (with hands shaking) threaded her way through the growing throng of dancers on the lawn. She stepped hesitantly through the brightly-lit doorway and into the shadowy hall. It was empty; Ceci breathed a sigh and barely stopped to wonder whether she were disappointed or relieved... when a dark shadow in the corner caught her eye.

He held that familiar broad-rimmed hat in his hands, which kept moving slowly along the brim. His head was bent, staring down at the floor and his bright hair was mussed--more so than usual. And he stood against the wall, just inside the front doorway.
Ceci turned round and looked at him for a long moment. It was her intent to make him look up through the persistence of her gaze. She felt her heart beat against her ribcage like a trapped bird. It was truly torture, having memorized a hundred intelligent things to say in preparation for such a situation only to have them flung from her mind just when she needed them. She couldn't bear her own silence-- to say anything, anything--
"Mr. Lennox!" Marguerite's voice suddenly appeared from behind, and they both jumped.
"Oh, thank you for coming!" she stopped abruptly when she finally seemed to notice Ceci standing rigidly in the hall. "Won't you... both... come out into the party?"
At which point Ceci turned quickly and followed on her cousin's departing heels. Corran followed too, slowly, watching that retreating head of dark curls.


"Sicily!" Pearl cried, grabbing at Ceci's arm. "Come on and dance with me! Now they've stopped with all those boring formal dances... c'mon!" She pulled Ceci into the fray and twirled herself beneath her raised arm.
Pearl was always the fantastic one for diversions. The music's rhythm beat in Ceci's ears, for they danced close to the little orchestra (three violinists plus a reed-flutist and Sam Redford with a make-shift drum) and for a moment she didn't think of anything.
It didn't last too long, however, for Quincy stole up close to Pearl and dropped a little beetle in her hair and of course she had to go after him again. And all at once an arm suddenly pressed round Ceci's waist and drew her aside from the dancing crowd and the pounding music.
A voice close to her ear said her name. Only... coming from that voice she could barely believe the name it gave, or its frightening nearness to her.
"Ceci..."
Ceci looked up into Mr. Lennox's face. She felt her cheeks burn. The music and the dancers faded into the background.
"Could I have a word?" His voice was still an intimate whisper, but somehow strangely formal. He waited for an answer.
Ceci wondered--senselessly, for such a moment--where his hat had got to. He wasn't holding it in his hands; they were empty.
"I... I didn't know you would be here," was the only thing she could think to say.
Mr. Lennox smiled. His eyes left her face, where they had been so transfixed, and wandered. His smile slowly faded as he said, "As much as I regard your cousin and Mr. Tout, I came only with the intention of... if not speaking with you, at least seeing you."
His eyes traveled quickly back to her face, as if to gage her reaction.
An image suddenly came into Ceci's mind: Mr. Lennox-- Corran-- heaving on the ground, black with soot and blood and struggling to breathe. It was one of the left-over nightmare images from the day James Carter lost his house to a fire. She took in a sharp breath to cover the gasp that came out.
"I... I finished your book, Mr. Lennox--the one you loaned to me. It was quite good and very... very true." Ceci said.
Mr. Lennox frowned again and looked away from her. "I wish you wouldn't call me that. I thought we were friends enough to hear you say Corran... not Mr. Lennox."
"But you never gave me leave to call you Corran," Ceci replied.
"Your brother used my first name hardly a moment or two after I met him," Mr. Lennox returned.
"I'm not like Quincy. And I never knew for sure whether we were friends," Ceci said.
"Not friends?" Mr. Lennox said, surprise apparent on his face. His brow furrowed in a way Ceci could never remember seeing before.
"Well, I'll have my book back then, if we aren't friends. Strangers hardly borrow books to each other."
Ceci flinched. She couldn't tell from his face or from his voice whether he were teasing or not. But she thought not.
She took in a deep breath. "I simply don't know what to say to you. What is it you want from me?" She said.
Mr. Lennox sighed. "I'm skirting the issue quite clearly," he said. "Pearl gave you my letter?"
Ceci nodded, looking down.
"Then I'll tell you. I meant every word of it."
Ceci didn't look up. After a moment, Mr. Lennox reached out to her and grasped her hands.
"Ceci," he said, leaning closer to her. "If we can't be friends, then perhaps we might find another arrangement. Look at your cousin."
Ceci turned to gaze out at the crowd and saw Marguerite happily engulfed in Christopher's arms.
"I simply... simply cannot escape from the thought that you and I should end up that way." Corran's voice was a penetrating whisper again.
Ceci could feel his grip on her fingers tighten as though he would draw her to him. She looked back at him, and her heart fluttered unnervingly in her chest. There was that image of a gasping, choking Corran trapped in her mind. "Just promise me right now that I'll never, never, have to endure such a terror as you gave me... the day you disappeared into that burning house. I wouldn't bear it again, Corran Lennox." To her dismay, tears pricked at her eyes. They gathered into pools at the corners and before she could stop them, fell down from her lashes onto her cheeks.
Corran only smiled down at her. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek and her temple and her hair.
Out came a little sob and she leaned into his embrace. She let the tears fall freely and reached up to put her arms about his neck.
And he buried his face in her hair.

Matti and Niila in Pajala

"As early as in class six Niila's awkward relationship with girls started to become clear. It had nothing to do with his appearance, even if he was no beauty, with his typically Finnish potato of a nose, prominent cheekbones, and hair that was always greasy, no matter how often he washed it. He was lankier than I, and perhaps a bit jerky, fumbling in his movements. But he wasn't repulsive. On the contrary, he radiated a sort of energy that prowled around like a caged animal, looking for a way of escape. It would be an exaggeration to call it an inner fire, perhaps; but it was something warm and vulnerable. It rankled within him and the girls could sense it. He had will power, a root forming in his back bone."

"All the time there were other girls in the background, not my type, it's true, but there nonetheless. Girls who were adventurous. Who were willing to take risks, cling to the edge of the precipice by their fingertips, who were willing to launch themselves into the night sky. "

From
Popular Music from Vittula
by Mikael Niemi

A Page Concerning Invitations

Marguerite sat at the desk in her little room, smiling in the sunlight radiating through the window. Her hand paused over a sheet of clean, blank paper. At her elbow was a neat stack of letters, all sealed with bright red ribbon and addressed in her tiny, neat handwriting. Her cheeks were still pleasantly rosy after a kiss from Christopher, and their forthcoming nuptials filled her thoughts.
Presently, she deliberated over a certain invitation... for the stack of letters all contained invitations to her engagement party. She had just finished Ceci's, and the thought of her dear cousin reminded her of a certain Mr. Corran Lennox, whom she suspected of particular regard for Cecilia. She wondered if such an invitation would cause consternation; it was of no particular concern to her whether or not the young man attended the party. The very idea of it was due to Ceci alone.
Marguerite wished she might ask Christopher his opinion. But he had gone on errand to town (for what, he wouldn't say.)
As she sat by the window, debating the correct action in her mind, she heard a soft knock at the front door. So she put her pen down and left the room to answer it.
She opened it wide to find Ceci standing in the doorway, looking rather... unlike her usual self. Ceci stood with her arms crossed tightly to her chest, paler than usual and stony-faced.
"My dear! I was just thinking of you, and that we haven't spoken for ages. Come in from the chill!" Marguerite ushered her cousin into the parlor, where Ceci sat without a word on a vacant chair.
"I'll fetch you some tea-- you look colder than ice!" And Marguerite hastened off.
When she returned, she pressed a hot cup into her cousin's icy fingers.
Ceci sipped carefully at the liquid. The steam rose from the cup and brushed the rosiness back into her cheeks.
"What is it?" Marguerite said finally, leaning forward. She wasn't usually blunt, but she'd never seen Ceci in such a peculiar state before.
Ceci looked up at her cousin. She set the little tea cup on the table near her elbow. Then she sighed and retrieved a paper from her pocket.
Marguerite thought she saw her cousin's fingers tremble as she cradled the little slip in her hands. It was a letter, she finally realized.
"Is it... some terrible news?" Marguerite asked slowly, fright beginning to steal up her throat.
A grimace spread across Ceci's face. "No," she answered. She began to flatten the creased paper over her knee, and wouldn't look up to meet Marguerite's eyes.
"Then, heaven's sake, what?"
"Did Christopher ever write you a love letter?" Ceci asked, finally glancing up at her cousin.
Marguerite blinked in surprise. "No," she said.
"He told you that he loved you?"
"Yes," Marguerite said simply. "Is that what that paper is in your hands? A love letter?"
Ceci looked down at her lap again and nodded.
"Who is it from?" Marguerite asked, though she could easily guess.
"From Corran."
"Mr. Lennox?"
Ceci gave a quick jerk of her head.
"Well..." Marguerite wondered at her cousin. "Why are you so pale? You don't return his sentiments?"
Ceci didn't answer immediately. The long pause Marguerite understood as a negative, until Ceci said in a hoarse whisper, "I hardly know."
"Oh," was Marguerite's reply.
Ceci looked up at her with desperate pleading in her eyes. Marguerite could see a sheen of tears forming on the surface. She reached forward and clasped her cousin's cold fingers tightly in her own.
"I can't offer you any insights," she said quickly, "but you are the cleverest young woman I know... as well as the kindest. I'm confident you'll find the truth you need."
"Only... even if I find it, how am I to be sure I have the... the nerve?"
Marguerite stood up and gently pulled her cousin to her feet. She gave a little laugh.
"My very dearest Ceci! God bless you, if there's anything to doubt in you, it isn't your supply of boldness!"
Marguerite pressed Ceci into a tight hug, closing her eyes and willing her own abundance of happiness to pass to her beloved cousin.

Marguerite was left with a look of gratitude from Ceci's pale face as she stood in the doorway to watch her make her way slowly down the grassy hill behind the house. She paused there for a time, staring out into the sky and the departing sun.

When finally she returned to her desk of invitations, her hand paused once more over the blank paper. She glanced out the window again.
Then resolutely, she penned the invitation to Mr. Lennox.