Rebecca, I see this one read out loud as you stand on a cliff, heart pounding, greeting life in her infinite form. An ode. A prayer.
I’ll tell you a secret, the other night I had a hard time sleeping and to quiet my buzzy head, I pressed my thoughts into all my favorite Substack writers, imagined each one at their desks, immersed, dedicated, present, honoring the world they inhabit with the written word. And of course, one of them was you. I fell fast asleep with a calm heart after feeling into the human heart’s gorgeous goodness.
Marvelous. Alone on watch 500 miles offshore, fulmars swoosh in across the waves. They bank steeply to shear the water. Yet black eyes stay level with the horizon. They circle round the vessel and, when calm, set down on the water in a group. The ship moves on. After a while they take flight and catch up to us to circle the rigging again. During the day their numbers grow. Out on the vast ocean, I welcome their company, not to be alone.
oh it's wonderful to read about what fulmars get upto on the open ocean! and to know they were company for you out there. I read that their expansion from a few small Atlantic islands is because of fishing and whaling vessels supplying a food source for them, meaning they could travel across the sea to new lands. I wonder if any of the fulmars you watched ended up founding new populations.
Fulmars have traveled w ships for at least 200 years. They know the ocean and by now all the steep grassy slopes for nesting from Iceland to the South Shetland Islands.
Yes it was around then that their range expansion began. It is quite something to see how widespread they are now! Still, I can't help but wonder if they might be following new ships to new places. There's something a little romantic, a little poetic about the idea.
Oh my gosh, Rebecca. This ought to have entered into some prose poem competition. It's absolutely stunning, and yes, I do want to come and witness all, and no I don't want to think about all that's gone wrong, but yes, I do want to fight for every single being we still have in this earth.
"Come to think that when these birds die and their bodies decompose, the only mark of their lives (where no mark should be left, not for a wild thing, not for a body made of sky) will be plastic in the earth."
Rebecca this whole beautiful piece moved me but when I got to that paragraph, I couldn't stop the tears..."not for a body made of sky" oh, my heart 💔
Beautiful piece. I love fulmars, especially watching them fly. Fulmars sometimes nest on Arthur's Seat not far from the cemtre of Edinburgh. The issue of plastic in the stomachs of so many birds is terribly sad, a real tragedy.
they are wonderful to watch in flight, aren't they?! so graceful, with such a pleasing line to their wings. I love that they nest on Arthur's Seat! I had no idea they'd nest somewhere so urban.
The fulmars on Arthur's Seat nest further inland than any others in Scotland (possibly in the UK). I haven't seen them for a few years, they're quite elusive and possibly no longer breeding there, which would be sad.
Just finished reading Landmarks by Robert Macfarlane and thought of your writing as I savored his glossary of obscure terms for the natural world collected in the British Isles. What do terms like cag-mag (a very old goose) make me so happy? Perhaps there is more joy in not knowing.
Cagmag makes me so happy too!! I love hearing old terms for wildlife, and also local names. Our curlews are called Whaups, because it's what their call sounds like.
I don't think I've ever seen a fulmar, but I've read about them and I very much want to do so. Your essay fills me with longing to jump in a boat or on a plane to go where I can see them. As I read this I'm listening to Christopher Tin's heartbreakingly beautiful album, The Lost Birds, which is his paean to our feathered friends and lament for birds driven to extinction by human action, and glorying in the synchronicity. Your words and his music, a perfect combination, beautiful and full of longing and grief. Thank you for the gift of words:
"imagine their honeycomb bones swooping through open-ocean storms"
"imagine the white specks of their bodies gliding up the face of a forty-foot wave"
"Come to hear them chatter, cackle, caw. Come to be cloaked in their cacophony."
Rebecca, I see this one read out loud as you stand on a cliff, heart pounding, greeting life in her infinite form. An ode. A prayer.
I’ll tell you a secret, the other night I had a hard time sleeping and to quiet my buzzy head, I pressed my thoughts into all my favorite Substack writers, imagined each one at their desks, immersed, dedicated, present, honoring the world they inhabit with the written word. And of course, one of them was you. I fell fast asleep with a calm heart after feeling into the human heart’s gorgeous goodness.
🤍🤍🤍 this filled my heart up this morning Kimberly!
Marvelous. Alone on watch 500 miles offshore, fulmars swoosh in across the waves. They bank steeply to shear the water. Yet black eyes stay level with the horizon. They circle round the vessel and, when calm, set down on the water in a group. The ship moves on. After a while they take flight and catch up to us to circle the rigging again. During the day their numbers grow. Out on the vast ocean, I welcome their company, not to be alone.
oh it's wonderful to read about what fulmars get upto on the open ocean! and to know they were company for you out there. I read that their expansion from a few small Atlantic islands is because of fishing and whaling vessels supplying a food source for them, meaning they could travel across the sea to new lands. I wonder if any of the fulmars you watched ended up founding new populations.
Fulmars have traveled w ships for at least 200 years. They know the ocean and by now all the steep grassy slopes for nesting from Iceland to the South Shetland Islands.
Yes it was around then that their range expansion began. It is quite something to see how widespread they are now! Still, I can't help but wonder if they might be following new ships to new places. There's something a little romantic, a little poetic about the idea.
Oh my gosh, Rebecca. This ought to have entered into some prose poem competition. It's absolutely stunning, and yes, I do want to come and witness all, and no I don't want to think about all that's gone wrong, but yes, I do want to fight for every single being we still have in this earth.
🤍 and so we will!
"Come to think that when these birds die and their bodies decompose, the only mark of their lives (where no mark should be left, not for a wild thing, not for a body made of sky) will be plastic in the earth."
Rebecca this whole beautiful piece moved me but when I got to that paragraph, I couldn't stop the tears..."not for a body made of sky" oh, my heart 💔
🤍 I'm glad it spoke to you so deeply, Susie, and I hope it filled you with as much hope as sadness x
Wow! So many beautiful sounds and images here ... I especially like, "... honeycomb bones swooping through open-ocean storms."
thank you for the kind comment! so glad you enjoyed this piece.
Beautiful piece. I love fulmars, especially watching them fly. Fulmars sometimes nest on Arthur's Seat not far from the cemtre of Edinburgh. The issue of plastic in the stomachs of so many birds is terribly sad, a real tragedy.
they are wonderful to watch in flight, aren't they?! so graceful, with such a pleasing line to their wings. I love that they nest on Arthur's Seat! I had no idea they'd nest somewhere so urban.
The fulmars on Arthur's Seat nest further inland than any others in Scotland (possibly in the UK). I haven't seen them for a few years, they're quite elusive and possibly no longer breeding there, which would be sad.
how interesting! I hope they're still breeding there.
I went to see our local fulmars yesterday; your lovely piece couldn't have come at a better time.
Oh I'm so glad! I hope you had a lovely time with them yesterday.
Always!
Thank you for writing this. I could feel my breath deepen and slow as I was reading.
Oh this makes me happy - I'm so glad it had that effect, Anna.
Beautiful
Thank you Heidi!
This is so incredibly beautiful Rebecca. It's poetry.
oh thank you so much Jen!
Beautiful photos and lovely writing.
Thank you so much Barbara!
Just finished reading Landmarks by Robert Macfarlane and thought of your writing as I savored his glossary of obscure terms for the natural world collected in the British Isles. What do terms like cag-mag (a very old goose) make me so happy? Perhaps there is more joy in not knowing.
Cagmag makes me so happy too!! I love hearing old terms for wildlife, and also local names. Our curlews are called Whaups, because it's what their call sounds like.
Goodness, Rebecca, I’m a little bit jealous! This is soooo beautiful! Amazing! Congratulations ❤️
🥰 thank you Francesca!
Thank you 🙏🏾💙
So glad you enjoyed it, Danette 😊
I don't think I've ever seen a fulmar, but I've read about them and I very much want to do so. Your essay fills me with longing to jump in a boat or on a plane to go where I can see them. As I read this I'm listening to Christopher Tin's heartbreakingly beautiful album, The Lost Birds, which is his paean to our feathered friends and lament for birds driven to extinction by human action, and glorying in the synchronicity. Your words and his music, a perfect combination, beautiful and full of longing and grief. Thank you for the gift of words:
"imagine their honeycomb bones swooping through open-ocean storms"
"imagine the white specks of their bodies gliding up the face of a forty-foot wave"
"Come to hear them chatter, cackle, caw. Come to be cloaked in their cacophony."
"a body made of sky"
I'm so happy I could share my love for fulmars with you! And that sounds like an incredible album. I will listen to that later today.
Gorgeous, Rebecca, and heartbreaking and gorgeous again. Like life.
And no, it certainly is not over yet.
🤍 so much to fight/write/love/live for!