Once more September marveled that even the Dodo knew what she wanted to be when she was grown. She simply could not think what she herself might do. September expected that destinies, which is how she thought of professions, simply landed upon one like a crown, and ever after no one questioned or fretted over it, being sure of oneโs own use in the world. It was only that somehow her crown had not yet appeared. She did hope it would hurry up.
Catherynne M. ValenteThat stirring which had fluttered in her on first glimpsing the seaโthat stirring landlocked children know so wellโmoved in her now, with the golden stars over head, and the green fireflies glinting on the wooded shore. She carefully unfolded the stirring that she had so tightly packed away. It billowed out like a sail, and she laughed, despite herself, despite hunger and hard things ahead.
Catherynne M. ValenteWe all have someone we think shines so much more than we do that we are not even a moon to their sun, but a dead little rock floating in space next to their gold and their blaze.
Catherynne M. ValenteBut the thought arrived inside her like a train: Marya Morevna, all in black, here and now, was a point at which all the women she had been metโthe Yaichkan and the Leningrader and the chyerti maiden; the girl who saw the birds, and the girl who never didโthe woman she was and the woman she might have been and the woman she would always be, forever intersecting and colliding, a thousand birds falling from a thousand oaks, over and over.
Catherynne M. Valente