"Crows are cleansers. They take away decay. Their intelligent birds said t have magical properties too, including an ability to divine the future and dismantle the past. Best of all they collect trinkets and treasures, shiny things that catch the eye, which they use to feather their nests."*
I am a magpie, a common crow.
My eye is drawn to the flotsam and jetsam of life, the bits and bobs that others toss into a garbage can. Life's detritus, a dead bubblebee, a dragonfly corpse, cracked halves of a robins egg. For some reason, I don't know why, I find value in them. The craggy edges of the egg shell, it's soft blue-green coloring; the up close fuzz of the bumble bee, it's body set in a permanent crouch; the truth of a life once darting through the sky in the corpse of the dragonfly.
The photos above are of a print box, filled with the tidbits I come across.
Tiny fork and Tiny knife, bone handles with rivets.
two doll babies flanking an old compass, parrot, curved wire by Pascale Palun.
dragonfly, found on the garage floor, perfectly intact.
jacks and a rubber ball from my friend Linda, tiny metal canoe
Monkey, Tintype with smoking guy
Pencils worn to nubs
Is there something that you value, that is of no apparent value to anyone else?