When Aepril Schaile - bellydancer, musician, witch, animal rights advocate, astrologer, shaman, performance artist, bird watcher and all round renaissance woman - made the horrendous fucking mistake of letting my ass know that Peck-Man and my expletive-studded crow tales had actually proved to be inspirationally useful for one of her new corvid-themed projects I immediately threw open my dubious flasher witch coat and asked if she'd be interested in some naturally shed carrion crow feathers for good luck.
(Of course they're genuine! Just nibble on the quills; Corvus corone, the real fucking deal! Do I look like the sort've person who'd pass off junk I found like it was a handful of magic motherfucking beans? On second thought, don't answer that.)
Before I could send the feathers away to Aepril I had to select them (a mixture of old and recent Pine Hedge Rookery finds), tidy them, ritually cleanse them and seek an Otherworldly blessing by those who've already passed on. Now that they've been given the corvid seal of approval they're ready to travel Stateside to bestow a ridiculous fucking amount of good luck and success to a fellow devotee of our Blessed (Underground) Mother.
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