If I were to make a collage of my childhood memories, there would be many images of swans. I read and reread my volumes of Grimm Brothers and Hans Christian Andersen, eyes tracing every line of the old-fashioned pen and ink illustrations. I especially remember the story of The Seven Swans, bewitched brothers who could be restored to human form only through the long suffering loyalty of their sister. Her task was to remain mute while knitting seven shirts out of nettles. Who of us hasn’t felt kinship with the ugly ‘duckling’, hoping, as he did, to someday find that niche where we feel right and true and beautiful--swanlike. I owe my love of nature in great part to my paternal grandmother. The backyard of her modest home was separated from a large city park by just a narrow alley and hedge. It was magical to slip through a gap in the hedge, holding my grandmother's hand, and enter a vast world of huge trees, squirrels, fat goldfish, fountains and flowers. We spent hours walking the paths where swans glided to and fro across a lake. Nana died more than 40 years ago. She is forever connected in my heart with swans.
I associate Swans with that park/my childhood too!
ReplyDeleteVery beautiful, the swan and the writing.
ReplyDeleteYes, I am 66 now and my life that many years ago with our grandparents had no TV watching whatsoever. Most memories are those of the outdoors, even playing canasta on the screened in porch in view of the park, running from the porch at night to catch fireflies, peering into grandfather's fishpond, smiffing the flowers in both grandmothers' gardens, the drives and walks and hikes where everyone said "ooooohhhhh!" seeing a sunset or a tree or little creature.
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