Woodgrain Gait of The Woman in Green (Swallow Looks In)

“the woodgrain gait of the woman in green” is the sister‑piece to Photon Flight of the Swallow — the same bird, the same world, but seen from the opposite direction.
This time, the swallow is the one looking in.

I used the same footage of the swallow preening, but shifted the palette: a soft pink frame, a constellation of star‑shine, and a warmer, more human tone. The swallow becomes a guide, a witness, a keeper of the old rhythms.

The music carries the same melodic DNA as Photon Flight — the piano echoes the original motif, and the swallow’s whistle call returns as a sonic signature. It’s the sound of migration, memory, and the quiet reminder that everything comes back when it’s ready to return.

This piece is about cycles, breath, healing, and the gentle pull of the earth.
A poem for anyone who’s forgotten their rhythm, and a bird who remembers it for them.

lyrics:

I use the sunlight to fly,
and the magnet in my nose it knows the way.
I land at your windowsill,
a tiny little bay.
I dock there for a moment,
and look in on your day.
You rush from room to room,
never looking very quaint,
always so brooding.

follow the earth,
follow the air,
follow the rhythm that’s older than fear.
i circle back,
i circle near,
to show you the way when the way isn’t clear.

I tilt my head back but not to laugh,
my black bead eye catching the tremor in your breath
as you bounce between the seasons.
I see the winter in your shoulders
and the August in your jaw,
the way you carry every month at once
like a creature who misplaced its migration.

You move as if chased by a storm
that never fully arrives.
You shed leaves in the morning
and grow them back by noon.
Your hours molt too fast.

the endless light pervades your slumber,
keeping you awake til the ungodly number,
you do not rest and so are never at your best.
the flicker of lamps amping the adrenaline,
like glowing beams of signal,
always at the ready,
always at the edge.
you cannot bend into sleep,
you fall into exhaustion,
one ticking time bomb note in play,
one day by day by day.

I watch the glow leak from your windows
long after the moon has clocked out.
Your nights hum like a power line,
buzzing with the ghosts of unfinished hours.
You’ve built a dawn that never ends,
a false sunrise that burns you hollow.

follow the earth,
follow the air,
follow the rhythm that’s older than fear.
i circle back,
i circle near,
to show you the way when the way isn’t clear.

the light of the thumbnail crescent woe
shapes your waters and bends your brow,
you frown the most out of any woman you know,
so you turn upside down to better approach the ground.
but the feeling is never again to be found
in places where enchantment tangles in your hair,
the photon flight of the swallow,
follow the lead of the bird, who follows earth.
you can be sure of perch.
on shores of peace where memory is not a curse.

rebirth, renew.
redux, redo.
another chance to come undone.
you are not a rock,
not the thunder holding it all in
until the lightning collapses.

You were built for cycles,
for the soft undoing,
for the quiet re forming,
for the long exhale that makes room
for the next version of yourself.
Collapse is how stars begin.
Unraveling is how nests are made.

reach for the branch and touch something real.
the moment unleashes when feeling becomes trajectory.
let it move you.
let it cradle the past in something that lasts
but isn’t at the forefront of all things you do.
that time when healing is the rhyme,
synergist flow between the surprise and the know.

follow the earth,
follow the air,
follow the rhythm that’s older than fear.
i circle back,
i circle near,
to show you the way when the way isn’t clear.

i flutter now, beyond the sea,
to migratory land in winter’s decree.
i take leave but not a goodbye,
it is not forever, just for a while.
i follow the sunlight,
with wings meant for long flights.
beams of promise, that always shine,
returning in the next wave
when spring follows may.

And as I rise,
know this,
departure is not loss,
and distance is not severance.
Every creature who follows the old maps
returns by the same invisible thread.

When the thaw comes,
when the wind smells like wet soil and second chances,
I will find your windowsill again,
not to save you,
but to remind you
that everything returns
when it is ready to return.

Even you.

follow the earth,
follow the air,
follow the rhythm that’s older than fear.
i circle back,
i circle near,
to show you the way when the way isn’t clear.

Видео Woodgrain Gait of The Woman in Green (Swallow Looks In) канала Emerald Queen's Flickerhythms