July 6th

my insignificance

in the majesty of stars

a lonely vigil

I popped into the new Edvard Munch exhibition at the Tate Modern after work. I rushed through as I wanted to get a taste for it, as a member I can visit anytime for a more leisurely (although leisurely may be the wrong word) visit at a later date. Munch is one of my favourite painters. The collection they’ve pulled together for this exhibition is great. There is an intense loneliness about his work.

For example, Starry Night. Initially it seems this is a celebration of stars and clear crisp nights. And indeed it is. But what appears to be the artists shadow thrown across the ground just speaks of loneliness and melancholy to me. How we are alone. It moves me. As does most of his work.

(pic from Tate website)

June 28th

shadow witches perched

unblinking at the window

ragnailed and swaying

I walked into the spare bedroom in the dark the other day, before I switched on the light, I had a flashback of childhood. On windy nights, when the curtains were open, even by a tiny crack, I used to scare myself looking at the shadows of the trees breaking between the curtains, splayed on the wall. I imagined witches were out there, squatting in the trees, silently waiting for me, their long slender fingers exploring the insides of the room via their cast shadow.

And then of course I stupidly watched Salem’s Lot at one point, the Stephen King TV adaptation. Of course that was it then, it was floating vampires tapping at the window *and* tree witches from that point forward. Oh, and ghosts walking through the walls (sometimes just the dismembered floating drooling head of a ghost hovering above me) and a werewolf under the bed / in the wardrobe.

But it was all ok, as the rules were if you hid under the covers, they couldn’t touch you. Beds and blankets are the greatest ward against the supernatural. Not garlic, not silver, not holy water. A bed, with a sheet to pull over your head. Foils them every time.

Stills from Salem’s Lot below. This scene was pretty chilling. Even watching it today, this otherwise unremarkable TV horror has some great suspense and frightening moments. And David Soul is in it.

When a vampire floats up to your bedroom window and starts tapping and scratching at it, imploring you to let him in, do not, I repeat, do not invite him in. Without an invite, he’ll have to stay outside, getting bored. Just stay in bed. And pull the sheet over your head so you don’t meet his gaze, or he’ll try and beguile you to do his bidding.

Dude, what did I just say? He’s gonna mess you up now!

March 25th

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.

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.

February 4th

 

Shadow slips between,

The callow long limbed alders,

Harp strings, ice murmurs.

 

The cold ripped the breath from my throat this morning. Although the sun was shining, it was minus 7C when I headed off to walk to the station around 8.30am. As I knew the moors would be frozen I took the scenic route. I’m glad I did. I walked past the big bunch of alder trees and took the photo below.

There’s something serene about a sunny and freezing winters morning, but only if you’re wrapped up warm enough to appreciate it!