chatter and whistles
starlings gossip on the line
animated dusk
The vocal range of starlings is pretty impressive. There were four whooping and whistling and chattering to one another. Their mimicry is impressive, they can even copy people’s speech with enough exposure. You can youtube examples of this, but be warned, their voices are proper horror film evil sounding.
At dusk weary crows
drag their long wings through the air
shadows departing
I drove past two crows, who took off and loped away, blots of night on the remnants of the day.
poppy seeds rattle
in the contented old face
of the blind scarecrow
It had a face, not an engineered face. The poppy seed head just had a face! Most of the poppies in the garden are like this now, dry, full of seeds, rattling away when you brush past them. However there is one big fat one about to bloom! A late starter clearly.
Reared up on hind legs
taut and lissom hare surveys
green and pleasant land
Was it a hare we saw in the grass on Pegsdon Hills as we drove past? Probably not, it was dusk, we didn’t get much of a chance to study it, but I’d love to see one, they’ve always eluded me. Once I did think I saw one, it was certainly rabbit/hare like in shape and it seemed to be striding rather than hopping. It looked big. But part of me doubts the way I perceive things. Until I’m 100% sure, I can’t say I’ve seen one. It might be my brain planting a wish into the way my eyes interpret the real world. Can’t say for sure.
Hopefully I’ll catch them boxing at some stage this spring, that will be a sight to behold. I make no apology for quoting the great talent that was William Blake in this Haiku :)
Laughter crackling flames
Footpad’s silent steps avoid
Plots most foul and grave
So this Haiku is about an event from the previous night. Does it particularly matter that it wasn’t about an event on that specific day? Not really.
As I walked through the moors at dusk (see previous Haiku for March 24th) I could hear laughter, it was either on the edge of the moor or in one of the big gardens. Then I saw the bonfire and the silhouettes of people’s frames against the bright light of the flames.
It put me on edge, I initially thought it was people being brazen and messing about in the moors, but of course it wasn’t. My eyes had played tricks on me and it was a bonfire in someone's garden. They were having a party. But it didn’t stop me from thinking I was a level 9 Halfling rogue, hiding in shadows to get round the orc encampment. Many lost years playing Dungeons and Dragons led to this horrendous paranoid imagination of mine.
Rusty pheasants crank
Daffodils pale in the gloom
Dusk light fades to black
Was a warm clear day. I walked through the moors to get home from the station (Arsenal beat villa 3-0) at dusk. The temperature was wonderfully cool, where a fleece is perfect. When the daylight falls, you rely on other senses. Hearing and smell. Like our ancestors.
I could hear a right old racket in the woods, Pheasants barking at each other, their grating calls like a 1920s car horn. The daffodils looked pale, almost white in the failing light. I like the lonesomeness of the woods and moors at night.
Not many people use the moors at this time, but I did pass two lads with a flashlight and their inquisitive dog. And a lady, powerwalking with her own canine companion. I bade them all a good evening well in advance of our paths crossing, just in case they hadn’t seen me. I don’t want to startle anyone or make them uncomfortable. Not that the night should make people any less friendly, but the darkness does provoke a mistrust in others. Again, the primitive part of our brain, sensing danger. We’re outside of the cave, we’re exposed, our night vision isn’t as good as the predators. Wolves prowl.
Blackbirds duel at dusk,
Songs soaked in battleship grey,
Echoes bounce off steel.
Most of my Haikus seem to be about birds. That’s because birds are awesome. Tonight, I left work around 6.30, it was pretty much dark. The car park was quiet apart from two blackbirds having a sing off. I could see one of them quite clearly, taking the high point in the photo above. The little spot on top of the tower.
The complexity of a blackbird song is impressive, trills and tuneful whistles, no two compositions the same. One would start, then the other would reply. It was loud. This is the the time of year when territory is all important. Spring is pretty much here. Time to find a mate and nest. The two combatants were fighting it out for the large but spartan landscape of our work car park in Stevenage. For what little foliage there is.
