The Whistling Kite is one of the old ones — a bone‑keeper, a sky‑scavenger, a watcher who knows what must be stripped back so the truth can shine through. She circles above the land with her keen eyes, calling us down into the marrow, reminding us that the bones are where the stories live.
This ancestor arrived during the making of Down in Ya Bones, when a small tune rose through me as I worked the land — a tune I later recognised as something carried from my Scottish lineage. The Whistling Kite came to pick at that tune, to clean it, to reveal the story beneath it. She is the one who teaches that what has been weathered, broken, or worn down is often the doorway into remembrance.
She is a guide for those walking with grief, love, and gratitude intertwined — a companion for the long work of returning to what is essential. The Whistling Kite invites us to listen through the bones, to honour what has shaped us, and to let the old songs rise again.
The Whistling Kite is one of the old ones — a bone‑keeper, a sky‑scavenger, a watcher who knows what must be stripped back so the truth can shine through. She circles above the land with her keen eyes, calling us down into the marrow, reminding us that the bones are where the stories live.
This ancestor arrived during the making of Down in Ya Bones, when a small tune rose through me as I worked the land — a tune I later recognised as something carried from my Scottish lineage. The Whistling Kite came to pick at that tune, to clean it, to reveal the story beneath it. She is the one who teaches that what has been weathered, broken, or worn down is often the doorway into remembrance.
She is a guide for those walking with grief, love, and gratitude intertwined — a companion for the long work of returning to what is essential. The Whistling Kite invites us to listen through the bones, to honour what has shaped us, and to let the old songs rise again.
