archers of an afterthought.

{little stick-saplings at the place in my forest called the edge of the world}

{feather caught on a wild rose bush, also at riverlot}

{a rabbit's lost foot. alas, unlucky rabbit!}

There's a beautiful song on Andrew Bird's new album 'Armchair Apocrypha' that I am loving very much right now, a simple little elegaic song called Scythian Empires (click there for the mp3). It's not just that I have a thing for my distant, horse-back-marauding, golden-grave-good-making, ornate-anthropomorphic-animal-tattoo wearing ancestors, but because this song is such an elegant little thought about the varying degrees of (im)permanency that everything, that we all, possess.

Scythian Empires by Andrew Bird

five day forecast bring black tar rains and hellfire
while handpicked handler's kid gloves tear at the inseams

their Halliburton attaché cases are useless

while Scotch-Guard Macintoshes shall be carbonized

now they're offering views of exiting empires
such breathtaking views of Scythian empires

Scythian empire
horsemen of the Russian steppe
Scythian empire
archers of an afterthought

routed by Sarmatians
thwarted by the Thracians
Scythian empire

kings of Macedonia
and the Scythian empire