flying through clouds of uncertainty on wings of existential dread
This is actually a new story to me and I don’t have a specific source for it, agh. I found it in an article on archery in Russian folklore and was delighted by the imagery and even more delighted when I looked up pictures of spoonbills, so you’ll have to accept a lil bit of vagueness as far as the specific story.
There are a bunch of Russian folktales where a set of brothers shoot arrows off in different directions and whoever the arrow lands nearest will be their bride. Risky, but ok, why not.
This version is way more fun, though, because the choice lies with the women. A woman tells her three sons to put arrows into the ground overnight. In the morning, their arrows are all beautifully painted. The next night they do it again and hide to see what’s happening, and a set of spoonbills lands, transforms into beautiful maidens (I’m going with generic girl descriptor here, not making assumptions regarding their virginity), and each girl picks the arrow of the man she wants to marry and decorates it all purty.
I love it. I love an animal bride, and a version where the decision lies with the magical shapeshifting women instead of the dudes? DELIGHTFUL.
Anyhow, obviously I needed to up the arrows to 8, and there’s just one girl still painting – the others have all finished and flown off.
Places to buy stuff!
Did I miss something? I think that’s everything.
What’s making me happy this week:
(You just made me send tea through my nose.)