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

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!

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!

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.

February 5th

Underworld thoughts pulse,

Synapse rivulets, ice splits,

Hephaestus forges.

 

We went for a walk in the snow earlier, back through the moors, to the pond too. There were some amazing designs in the surface of the pond, where the ice had started melting. It looked like something below the earth had shuddered, creating these synapse like splits in the ice. Way below in the underworld, Hephaestus was working I think. Making presents for Aphrodite. Poor Hephaestus. As an extra treat, here’s an additional poem that just jumped out of my original narrative to support the Haiku.

It was weird that on the first snowy day of the year I thought of the blacksmith of the gods and his furnace. Check the pic below too.

 

Hephaestus

There’s something under the water,

Under the earth,

He’s making, forging,

His hammer burning,

His arm, soot stained, pained,

Giant hands mould metal,

Precious stones,

Armlets, crowns, rings,

Beautiful gifts for his love,

Spurned,

Aphrodite laughs,

He drags his lame leg,

Furnace burned,

Heavy brows, focused,

Thick neck sweating,

Tries again.

©Mel Melis 5-Feb-2012

January 27th

 

Frost giant, tear fall,

Winter caress, piercing breath,

Her skin shimmers, love.

 

The little ripples of the cold breeze on the surface of the pond looked very beautiful today.

January 14th

 

We went for a walk in the Moors earlier, even though it was mid-afternoon there was still a covering of frost and some of the ditches and tributaries of the River Flit were totally frozen fast. The big pond on Flitton Moor was almost entirely frozen over bar a little ice hole in the far corner, from which some ducks flew away from, as we’d inadvertently disturbed them. Otherwise the ice looked quite thick as someone had seemingly lobbed a log onto it and it hadn’t broken the surface. Not sure if it was quite ready for ice skating however!

 

Torpid under ice,

Lurking carp’s cold eye observes,

Meek warmth reflected.

 

Pic taken earlier today, The Pond, Flitton Moor. Ice bound.