Gen Ryan + Jo Swingler

We Howl

Monday, November 24th, 2008

We howl for ourselves. We howl into the world. We are with the moon and the moon is within us. Fish slide under hard water, steel water, rained down from the mountains. We howl at the shapes, at the flashing shapes of fish. Colours spill. The rainbows emerge from our voices, reflect, refract, swim with the orange gold of the fish. Our mouths open wide to the sky, to the light in the sky, to the moonwhite light of the sky. While the fish sing in our minds and the shadows of the caught ones line the spaces that remain, the spaces where life was. We tell, through the sounds of our voices, the ways of the past. The stories of trapping and catching and eating. The salmon that leapt, demanding to be taken in jaws as powerful as ours. We wait for our moment and the moment is with the stars and the ghosts of the past. Our ancestors wait in blue spaces in the corner of our vision, warning us. And all the while, the shadow of the hunter rises from within.