The juniper tree outside my house is a fan favorite amongst the birds, despite December being a historically unkind wintry month. Avalanches of snow fall from the trees branches, wrecking havoc on their lives as they get stuck in the snow banks down below.
Yesterday my mom and I were shoveling the driveway when we heard a faint cry by the tree. Under a pile of snow was a bright red cardinal, frozen and struggling for breath. My mom made a little bed for it and put it in the bathroom so it could relax, but we thought for sure the bird was going to be a goner.
We waited patiently for it to breathe its last breath, talked about whether we should bury the body or leave it out for other animals to pick up. You can imagine how surprised I was this morning to find it was walking around the bathroom, even flapping its wings to prepare for flight flight.
My mom left for work early this morning, so she didn’t get to see the cardinal’s recovery. But my father, who didn’t see the bird until he got home from work late last night, was thrilled.
Advertisement
He was holding the bird on his lap at the breakfast table, trying to feed it despite the cardinal’s constant squirms and cries to be released. I told him we needed to set the bird free outside.
“It’s so dirty and stressed,” he said. “I was about to take a bath, I’m going to give him one, too.”
I stared at him. Sometimes I could have sworn this man had absolutely no brain inside his thick head. “Dad, are you serious?” I looked at the creature. I had never noticed a songbird’s eyes before, had never seen one with so much anger and hatred in them. “It’s stressed because you’re holding it. It doesn’t want to be held and it doesn’t need a bath. We need to let it go.”
“No.” He stood up, clutched the bird closer to his chest. “This is what it needs.” He finished the rest of his coffee, then walked upstairs and ran a bath.
Three hours later, I found my dad dead in the bathtub. His eyes carved out, his guts protruded from the gaping hole in his stomach. The cardinal sat on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the body, its feathers dripping blood as a piece of meat hung from its tiny beak.
Advertisement
Suddenly it plunged into the water. I listened to the sound of it splashing and digging into my dad. I needed to leave, ask for help, but I was frozen, stuck to the wet floor. The bird was still underwater when I noticed, for the first time, that my dad was still breathing. His hands twitched as he whimpered and whispered for help.
Continuing our AI journey from last time exploring Little Red Riding Hood herself as the Big Bad Wolf… All of these are based upon the AI generated art and prompts using NightCafe and then created as posters in Canva.
How very… Phantom of the Opera predatory… this is definitely not what I had in mind. Maybe something more cutesy?
Ugh. Maybe not.
Wow, that seems like such a cop out, cropping off the head so you don’t have to depict it. And I don’t want to lose the Little Red Riding Hood reference completely.
So no surprise there, I knew that was too many references to work.
And as promised in Big Bad Poetry, we shall embark on our next AI journey, this time looking at Little Red Riding Hood. I had wanted to depict her as the Big Bad Wolf one and the same, although maybe not so big nor bad. But it just wasn’t happening quite as planned. All of these are based upon the AI generated art and prompts using NightCafe and then created as posters in Canva.
So I actually like this even better than my original vision, it is playful and even a bit serene (especially given the Sinister style). The wolf is just being a wolf. It’s quite lovely, really. But it wasn’t what I had in mind, so I revisited the idea later to see if I could get that result…
Over the river and through the wood flashed the fleet-footed Red Riding Hood on her way to her “grandmother’s” house.
When running past, who should she see but just one of the little pigs three cowering like but a tiny mouse.
“But my dear piggy, what do you fear?” Red Riding Hood asked as she slunk near, teeth hidden under a sheepish smile.
Advertisement
The nervous small pig looked up in fright and decided that Red was alright, missing the subtle clues by a mile.
“The Big Bad Wolf, that horrible beast upon the other wee pigs did feast!” the last little pig said with a squeal.
Red Riding Hood laughed with a great growl and threw back her heavy long-robed cowl, in a vast terrifying reveal.
For she was really the wolf Big Bad hidden beneath the cape that he had stolen from Red Riding Hood at point.
“And now I’ve caught you too my pretty and surely t’wouldn’t be a pity if I gobbled you up in this joint.”
Advertisement
T’was then the wee pig leapt to his feet And cried, “Big Bad Wolf, I shall defeat, for I am no ordinary swine!”
The little pig also wore sheep’s clothes spun in spells every woodland witch knows; Old Granny herself was quite divine.
“Now give me back my granddaughter’s cape, before I grab you by your ruffed nape and send you pig-squealing down the road…”
The wolf dropped the cape and ran, that cur, but Granny was swifter and hexed his fur and the wolf she turned into a toad.
Thus the moral of this story goes, when in the woods, no one really knows what sheepish sheep’s clothing is a ruse that big bad wolves and old witches use.
Advertisement
So this is actually an intro to my next AI art journey with NightCafe which developed from me not getting the results I wanted (Little Red Riding Hood herself as a wolf). Here’s a preview with Eric’s versions as he is much more literal in his prompting than I am, but where’s the fun in that? 😉
Prompts (from left to right) in Dark Fantasy style, executed Aug. 1, 2023:
Bipedal wolf in Red Riding Hood’s cloak
Bipedal wolf in Red Riding Hood’s cloak close up portrait
Bipedal wolf in red cloak close up portrait
Portrait of myself with dark makeup and crow skull headdress, backlit by the sun.
Jennifer Weigel
December 20, 2020 at 8:55 am
If you’re cold, they’re cold…
VoodooPriestess
December 20, 2020 at 1:29 pm
Is he okay? Are you okay? Do you have bird trauma in your life?!