Heather Dale tells the story behind “One of Us” – Girl Power and Swords ! :)

I love this song (especially the fast version) and I love the story behind it. I highly recommend you to listen to the whole explanation of the song she gives, the end is really cool and proves that there are some pretty role models out there for young girls. There is more to life than flowy dresses! And I love how she uses her recorder as a sword while singing :D

I remember doing mock sword fights with my siblings – we lived in an old town with historic buildings and a yearly medieval fair, so naturally we were well stocked with wooden short swords. Our mom got a little angry when we used the lids of big plastic bins (for storing all our legos) as shields. There even is a photograph of little me in a set of “armour” I had glued or stapled together made of white office paper and decorated with red lipstick of all things. I think this was before we had even moved to said town. So yes, stories of ladies wanting to have fun fighting are something that really resonates with me!

Sadly I’m grown up now and have no clue where my trusty old wooden sword is, but recently I saw a slightly bigger one in our Asian supermarket and was very tempted to buy it (after all I plan to do some fantasy themed photo shootings in the future!), but told myself this wasn’t a good idea, as I’m on a budget. A few days later the sword was gone and to this day I deeply regret not having bought it. Still hoping for a new one to appear in that shop …

 

tiger and bowstring

He tenses his muscles and turns his body into a longbow,
a bowstring woven of music and playful prancing
– then instead of an arrow a tiger flies forth
(and the tiger is carved from the lithe heartwood still beating one-TWO-three-pause)

He is a tiger sleeping in a library,
in semi-sleeptalk dutifully teaching little birds to hunt for words,
while longing for the moment to escape the grey walls with the jungle-green bow he keeps hidden under his chair
(and only at night he hunts words and songs for his own enjoyment, one-TWO-three-pounce)

He builds himself a seaside castle from tiger-striped driftwood,
barefoot he fights emerald waves and throws sand dollar shaped pebbles into tidal pool wishing wells,
in hazy summer-lands alive with the whirring energy of a bowstring sending arrows flying into battle
(and in the shade of a bottle gourd planting he turns salt-water soaked book pages, one-TWO-three-breathe)

tranquil warrior

He’s standing there, hands interlaced at the back of his head,
seemingly listening to a tune carried by the wind from faraway places
(and he’s wearing their patterns to keep himself warm in the wind)

Wisely smiling at the antics of youth,
laughing and fighting both coming from the heart
(and he’s as relaxed as a warrior can be)

In the blink of an eye his stance will change, complete control of mind and body,
with every fibre and muscle ready to face the world
(and he does so with thoughtful tranquility)