September 5th

green naked rosehips

stripped of petals windfallen

too early to blush

 

a pinch of angels

float, take root on chalk hills

as hardy thistles

 

Meadow Browns busy

along the sheltered old road

late summer blessings

 

Some pictures from my walk on Pegsdon Hills today. This is a beautiful time of year especially on days like this where the sun isn’t too hot and the breeze is gentle.

Wild Rose

A barren tree

Hawthorn berries, I took a photo of these trees when they were smothered in blossom back in the Spring.

ploughed fields

Sheep

May 24th

 

The Devil’s wisdom

sanctity of solitude

stares through hollow souls

After playing football, I decided to make use of the beautifully warm evening and take a run up Pegsdon Hills. Getting to the top at sunset you are rewarded with the fiery end of the day. There was a haze in the sky, it was particularly red. And the black sheep with their peculiarly sinister horns were amassed, giving me the opportunity to take some wonderful pictures (even if I do say so myself!) of them and the stunted little hawthorns, some of which were starting to bloom.

Sheep and goats have got a rough deal over the centuries, their features and eyes giving them a devilish appearance. But you know, it isn’t their fault we stuck a label on them :)

I love going to the hills, it gives time to think, there’s rarely people up there. Solitude and reflection is something to treasure.

May 20th

Crow seedlings scattered

black barbs resonate apart

sad cuts of midnight

I so wanted to see bluebells, but they’ve come and gone. May’s beautiful carpet had been rolled up. I’ll have to wait till next spring now. There were a few here and there, their hanging heads tired, but they were waning, dying. I didn’t realise but the UK has 75% of the worlds bluebell population. We’re privileged to have them. It’s a shame it rained so much earlier in the month, when they would have made the woodland floor blue.

I did see that the Hawthorn’s were blooming though. They cover the hillsides. The little stunted tough little trees, crouched tight to the ground, to stop them being swept off by raging winds.

Further on in the walk, we came to “our tree”. It’s a funny tree, so skinny, yet perched precariously right on the hill crest, where the winds would assault it from all sides. On my drives I often look for it in the distance and get a feeling of security and warmth when I catch it’s crooked thin shape in my sight. Today “our tree” had what appeared to be scratch / claw marks in its trunk. I got excited. An ABC? (Alien Big Cat)? Are these the claw marks of a large wild cat running free in the hills, fields and woods? I should have used my free hand to act as a scale, but the scratch marks were approximately 1.5 inches apart. Of course it must have a rational explanation, but it’s fun to imagine. I’m going back tomorrow night, so will try to remember a tape measure!

But today’s Haiku was about the three Crow feathers I found. They were perfect. So inky, with that metallic black glaze reflecting off them. I took them home. I like to look at them. I admire and envy crows.

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.

March 15th and March 16th

 

I’m publishing two days worth in one go today, the Haiku’s are so different, yet they seem complementary.  We’ve just been for a two day trip to London, where, interrupted by a wonderful visit to the theatre (The Ladykillers – very funny adaptation by Graham Linehan) we saw the exhibitions by two of the giants, in fact I would say, the top two British Artists spanning the of 20th and 21st Centuries. Namely David Hockney and Lucian Freud. It seems apt to publish the Haiku’s side by side.

Hockney’s exhibition at the Royal Academy is stunning in its colour and joy. Since his return to England from L.A he’s been painting every day in his native Yorkshire, capturing the change in the seasons. His work for Spring is just so heart warming and vivid.

(may blossom on the roman road 2009, 72in x 192in)

This painting captures the time of year Hockney calls “Action Week” where the transient Hawthorn Blossom appears and then swiftly disappears. It’s very poetic. This is a large painting, visually stunning.

My Haiku in humble appreciation of it, is below. I like the semi animalistic forms in the foliage too. And look at that sky. There’s something of the fairy tale about this work.

 

Hawthorn blossoming

Unbound spring bursts in the trees

Renewal brightness

 

Freud on the other hand, who divides opinion (I love his work by the way) has a retrospective of portraits at the National Portrait Gallery. This is the first major exhibition of his work since his death last year. I was discussing it with Debbie, but there is something of the instinctive, the animal in his work. And the capture of skin tone, it’s almost dead in pallor at times. But it feels real, raw and honest. I’ve used one of his own quotes in the last line of my Haiku where he talks about the importance of flesh in his work.

The Haiku itself relates to a specific self portrait “Self Portrait, Reflection 1981-82”. There is definitely something of the hunter about him in this, a bird of prey. His eye even looks like it’s pulled to the side of his head to give him a wider field of vision for observing his quarry.

 

Feral scrutiny

Tilted head hawk gaze devours

Paint to work as flesh

(from bridgemanart website)

 

Londoners or those in the region are fortunate that both exhibitions are running concurrently. I would thoroughly recommend both, for different reasons. They will be worthy of a proper post on my main blog in due course.

February 25th

Shadows tumble down,

Rabbits wait, flat in their scrapes,

Between the hawthorns.

My second visit of the year to Pegsdon Hills. Saw a flock of long tailed tits, a bullish wren shouting at me to get out of its territory, a robin, chaffinches, blue tits, great tits, a skylark singing high in the sky. And most excitingly a pair of Red Kites circling and crying their sad mewing call as well as a pair of buzzards too. Up high on the ridge these big birds of prey swooped and soared both above and below my sightline, scanning the ground for tasty prey.