November 14th

 

pocket full of crumbs

oat cakes for the hissing swan

but he’s left the pond

Felt quite sad that the Swan has gone away. Left our pond. I guess it was rather small for him (or her).

November 2nd

the meek sun revives

stone hearts warm and swell with blood

Lazarus life light

On cold days the sun provides that warmth to lift even the coldest heart, to force a smile, to melt, even by a tiny amount, a sadness. Here are some photos I took in Centenary Wood and the place I keep returning to, the Pond on the moors. That solitary swan seems to be living there now, it makes me sad to think he or she might have lost their mate.

All copyright to photos © Mel Melis

November 1st

dragged back thunder clap

shattered shards of pond scatter

as regal wings boom

By Flitton pond, we watched a Swan clean itself, thrashing and preening, when it rears up, it’s magnificent. When it claps its wings together, the noise is surprisingly loud, you can almost believe the old wives tale that they are able to break your arm!

Photos I took below © Mel Melis

October 28th

 

in the sun shunned wet

the earth stirs and rises up

slender stalks shoulder

the secret places

where sad old trees go to die

teeming with colour

 

Went for a walk in the moors and woods. If you look closely, the fungi are everywhere. In those sun shunned secret places. I don’t know much about identifying them, but they are all beautiful in their own way. Here are some photos I took (copyright: Me!). These are real scenes of autumn, the colours of autumn.

October 13th

 

When the moor succumbs

to bitter progress, they’ll dig

and find the bog man

 

I’ve not been entirely happy with my Haikus of late. I went for a run and lo and behold, some inspiration. Running is thinking time. I wrote a poem about the mind cleansing solitude, the creativity to be garnered from a run, away from all that distracting technology which clogs our lives, how it touches something ancient, something physical, brings us closer to the animals were are.

Today I considered what it would be like if I were lost on the moor, sunk into the peat, only to be discovered hundreds of years into the future preserved like one of those bog men. What could they deduce about me? Would they work out I was more than just a stupid jogger who broke his ankle and sunk into the mire? Probably not and to be honest they wouldn’t need to, as they’d be right!

There is an 8-haiku (5-7-5) version of this work on my main blog as it is more of a narrative poem. The abridged version single Haiku version is here.

September 16th

strewn along the path

bloody nosed beetle corpses

dismantled by ants

This time of year we seem to see an abundance of bloody nosed beetles on the moors. It must be they get disturbed when the harvests happen, so they end up more visible when the crops they normally hide in get shorn. Invariably a lot of them get stomped on. I’ve not picked one up yet (a live one), but apparently they spit a red liquid on you when disturbed, hence the bloody nose.

A pic I took of a live one above.

September 14th

tan, pale gold and black
a tortoiseshell collective
the wonder of cows
I like cows, they have a wet nosed dignity about them. On the moors there are a number of them, wandering as they please, some of them have young, who occasionally skip into a playful gallop. I noticed today, that the young are getting bigger, almost as big as their mothers. They are beautifully coloured, a damp sheen on their smooth coats, a mix of pale gold, brown, tan and black.
When I was younger, growing up in London, I had more chance of seeing an elephant than a cow, as trips to the zoo seemed more frequent than trips outside of London. Occasionally, and by that I mean every other year, my dad would drive us on a day trip to Southend, Face pressed against the glass of his sea green Austin I’d be excited if I saw a cow in the distance as he would drive to the coast.
Even today, there is a sense of wonder I get from domesticated animals, but I’m a bit more used to them now I live in the country!

September 8th

in bramble havens

the fierce stares of blackbirds curse

blackberry brigands

The brambles on the moors are already heaving with fruit. I’m not that fussed about blackberries though, the pips always get stuck in my teeth. The blackbirds are welcome to them all.

August 26th

 

crab apples flourish

sullen copper swirls of leaves

Autumn encroaches

It’s getting colder, the wind is picking up. On our walk through the moors we noticed the crab apples had really grown. The other day on a drive I saw wind fall leaves swirling in the wind. Tree’s are shedding their summer coats. Autumn is on her way.

photo I took of a crab apple tree. Apples, Apples everywhere

July 28th

damsels and dragons

wings crackle then dart away

red and blue shimmers

The pond over in the moors had little electric blue damselflies flitting about on it. Also bigger chunkier red dragonflies (or possibly another species of damselfly – I’m no expert I’m afraid, much as I’d like to learn more about them, but they move so fast so I couldn’t get pics!). When their wings beat you can hear them crackle or clap before they dart off at seemingly impossible speed. They are pretty beefed up power wise for their size. This is their season, they’ll become more and more prevalent for the rest of the summer.

July 15th

All seems still bar the

skittish skaters skirmishing

the surface ripples

---

the sound of people

muffled and lost in tall grass

shredded by the wild

entangling brambles

impenetrable thorn quilt

diminishing path

Not one, not two, but three haikus today. Two of them are a pair, one, the pond skater one, was originally meant to be stand alone, but if you read all three together, they complement each other and transition well, much like a walker leaving the relative peace of the pond and diving into the overgrown path to be torn by thorns and brambles.

So… The sun was threatening an appearance so I decided I’d go for a walk, I watched the pond skaters duelling on the surface of the big moor pond for a while, they would fly at each other, over the meniscus of the pond, wheeling elegantly and racing off in another direction to see off another adversary, they were all dancing, protecting the unmarked boundaries of their territory. It had been raining all day. D is away in Ireland, she would have been proud of me, as I listened intently. I heard the distinctive song of Chiff-Chaff and a Yellowhammer. Blackbirds and Wrens, their volume belying their tiny size. I crossed the stone bridge over the Flit, the water was running faster than normal, understandably due to the rain. It cascaded towards the faraway North sea, ultimately this little river would flow into the Ivel, then the Great Ouse then out into the flats of the Wash.

I walked the first moor, then thought I would tackle the second. Not via the main route, but by the little path, it was Sunday afternoon, which meant dog walkers. I’m normally personable, but I didn’t want to see anyone today. So I took the little path as hardly anyone bothers with it and the bird watching is better. I walked round the edge of the field of juvenile Alders, still stick thin but very tall, twice, sometimes three times taller than me. Even the grass was almost as tall as me. it should have given me fair warning. The path got more and more difficult to track, the wild had been reclaiming it. No one had battled through the thicket to clear it. It truly was a deer path now, no human had walked it in weeks it seemed. Back in March it was clear enough to run through it. But now, there were points I had to push through, through thistle and bramble. Nettles stung me. Thorns cut me. Snails ended up in my hair, passengers from the damp dark foliage.

I was lost. I’d lost the path. But I wasn’t phased. I was happy. There was a serenity in that. I tramped onwards, using one of the tributaries of the Flit as a marker to my right. I used my watch compass and having some idea of my position, negotiated myself out. I saw red brick between the trees, that meant civilisation. But I enjoyed my time in the grasslands. Getting lost when you are heading nowhere in particular has its own sweet reward.

Some photos from my adventure.

The Pond, Pond Skaters battle here.

Some thorny thistles blocking my path. Note they are around seven feet tall.

This used to be the path, now it’s a seething mass of impenetrable pain!

July 9th

soldier beetles touch

the cow parsley canopy

meadowsweet dreaming

First time in a long time, many weeks in fact, we walked on the moors. There is a wildness about them, the rain, that nourishing rain has burst the fields and moors aflame with colour. The plants and animals are thriving.

D is good at recognising plants and animals. So I learn a lot from her.

Soldier Beetles on Cow Parsley (although it might be Hedge Parsley, she’s fairly sure it’s of the cow variety). Solider Beetles are notoriously frisky, always getting it on with each other, although these lot are fairly sedate.

Meadowsweet. With it’s unusual smell. Kind of like vanilla, but not like vanilla at all. It’s a smell of it’s own. It hogs the sides of the river and its tributaries.

A pretty pink poppy, growing in the rape seed field. The yellow flowers of the rape are long gone, leaving the little pods containing the seeds from which the rape seed oil will be made. In this case it will contain a teeny bit of poppy too…

May 30th

Green tipped meadow flight

nectar stations colourful

Cabbage white dancers

I ran on the moors for the first time in a while. The flower meadows were magnificent. I wish I knew about them to name them, but it didn’t stop me from being inspired to see so many colours and so many cabbage white butterflies teasingly flitting between them all to drink.

May 13th

 

Shorn in a night storm

dying limbs span the river

willow flesh weeping

April 26th

 

Golden revival

synchronised bows, gentle waves

a tranquil sea swells

Haven’t been for a walk in the moors for a while due to the rain, so when there was a spot of calm we went for it. The rape had really grown! Some pics I took.

Can you see the nest in the middle tree in the photo above?

April 14th

Another two haikus today, lucky you! The second one made me laugh, not that I think it’s great, I’ll leave you to judge that, just that it’s silly and appealed to my sense of humour. First haiku..

 

Marsh marigolds drag

themselves out of the darkness

to kiss the king’s lips

 

The big pond and the ditches and pools in the moors are glowing yellow with Marsh Marigolds (also known as kingcups). The ones in the pond have tadpoles congregated round them, in the shallow areas where the perch can’t eat them I assume.

Another pic, I had to lean down from the platform over the pond. I put my bum in danger of getting wet. All for my art.

 

Onto the second haiku, there are little calves, multi-coloured beautiful little things. They rarely stray from their loving mothers, seemingly tucked under their hind legs, suckling away. So cute.

 

Bovine procession

the little one says “Udders!”

“Run to our mothers!”

The photo is fun, they started scooting to where their mums were gathered when they got a bit spooked. I imagined the three of them having adventures like the famous five, except there’s three of them and they’re cows. Then one of them started mock humping the little one, I was trying to take another cute innocent shot, but the “curious” fellow kind of spoiled that. The incident mangled the Enid Blyton image for me somewhat. I wasn’t going to share this photo, but as I had to see it, then so do you!

Ps – Just published and noticed the offending part of the image is obscured by my layout on the right. I think this censorship is entirely appropriate, when this blog gets older and dips down below the layout content, then you can see it, until then, trust me!

April 13th

 

Stormcocks drive away

the would be thief, their proud chests

puffed out and burly

 

Two haiku’s today. And some photographs from our lovely walk in the moors. The first one is about a pair of Mistle Thrushes who we witnessed chase off a magpie. I don’t think they would have built a nest yet, perhaps they were just defending the tree they’d decided to root in. Stormcock is an old English name for them. Quite an evocative one too as it honours their behaviour, singing from a high vantage point, even in the worst weather, almost in defiance or celebration of it. They seem fearless and fearsome birds. Unafraid to wade in. And they way they present themselves, chests out, head high, confident, noisy and musical. I’d never seen one before, so was quite exciting for me.

 

Silhouetted crow

black feathers consume the sun

dying in embers

 

The second Haiku relates to the following photo I took. About crows again, I keep going on about them. “Why don’t you marry one?” I hear you shout. It was just a lucky shot. but I’m very proud of it.

We also saw a skylark at ground level, I’d only ever seen them high up, singing their little hearts out. It disappeared into a field of rape. It sung, sung and kept singing all the way down, till it landed. Then it shut up. It landed in the vicinity of this patch!

A sunset pic

A puffball(?) on the trunk of a dead silver birch.

Finally, a pretty little long-tailed tit, whispering away with its mates in this hawthorn blossom. It sat long enough for me to zoom right in on him.

April 1st

The blackthorn archway

promised enchantment, a door

distant bells ring out

 

What a beautiful walk this morning. One of the blackthorn trees on the edge of the moors, bathed in the warming sun of early spring, was flowering. It must sit in a sun trap, as the other blackthorns nearby were not as magnificently decked out as this beauty. The sky was a clear blue, the morning chill was ebbing away. There were birds everywhere. Woodpeckers (Green and Great Spotted), Buzzards, Chiff-Chaffs, Treecreepers to name some of the more unusual ones.

Managed to get some (I say this humbly!) wonderful photos. Here are four, two of the blackthorn tree in question, one of a feisty wren who took exception to my presence and sat above my head singing loudly at me (I assume telling me in musical terms to “piss off”). And finally a teeny baby frog Debbie found on the moors. It is very early for a juvenile frog, when most of the new brood seem to have only just hatched into tadpoles, seething in the shallow ponds and stagnant parts of the river, not sure how it emerged so quickly as I doubt something this small crawled up onto land last spring.

March 10th

 

A string of pond pearls,

Toad craft coiled in the reed beds,

Weary mothers spawn.

 

Bit of a sensory overload, so many inspiring things to see and hear on the moors. Greater Spotted Woodpeckers competing, drumming out their territories. My first bumblebee of the spring (Deb saw one a few days ago). Daffodils pushing through the earth. More laughing Green woodpeckers. Blossom on the blackthorns. The white cherry blossom in the lane and the ubiquitous birdsong.

But what was most exciting was seeing the toads in the pond. Not just that, but also their spawn. How beautiful. I like this photo as the sky merges into the surface of the pond, but my shadow allows a window into the depths of it, so in my dark reflection, the pretty string of toad spawn.

March 6th

An orange ribbon,

Rolled out between the willows,

Dressing the dark moor.