roosting time

where do you stand?


Tonight I heard the blackbird's Braille and caught our Moon in eastern sky. We, islanders, have endured gales instead of snow. Morning downpours led way to light. The air was as freezing as our wild North Atlantic. The Westerlies feel so bitter, as sun ventures across our sky. February, the coldest, harshest month with a desire to make you feel its sharpest claws...  Raw, incisive, as wolf fangs through the flesh of a buffalo, and yet as invisible as a dream, snowless winter grips you and turns you blue. I could have felt on some shoreline in Hudson Bay; along the coast of Labrador... Those cold deserts, tundra landscapes, where permafrost still dreams of warmth and waders' calls, feel just like home. Each tongue of land holds its secrets.


Mine stands so proud in-between North Sea and Atlantic. Battered and constantly windswept, the island withstands anger from currents, rotating blades of each roller, ending their race on sculpted sand or against rocks, stacks and natural arches. Earthly Rodin. They shape our shores like a sculptor... They carve through basalt and Old Red Sandstone without shame and carry the world in their bellies. Every pebble locks its nomad's tale. 


And yet I grab those precious stones, as I retrace my steps back home. 


Birds unfolds wings to brave currents and reach heavens.
Sweet freedom, flowing in my heart.

By sunset time, I watched  gardens fill with our most common visitors. Since we planted trees in not such a distant past, they have now grown to perching springs, well above ground and feline eyes. As soon as I opened the door onto the sliding sun, the sky unveiled earth symphony, as starlings, sparrows and blackbirds hovered around barren branches. So many voices filled our sky. 

Wintersong,

gathering on top branches from June's secluded garden and fly off for roosting time.

Life, a constant flight for survival.
  

Another night, morrow or year. 

I wonder if they too stick to almanacs.

first sun

2012 awakening


I love to wake to Nordic sun. A cold wind blows across the island. Last night's Réveillon at our friends began with a bang, as Andy lit that single rocket in black sky at the back of Midnight. We hung our last hour of 2011 on Monica's coat rack and gathered by a warm hearth for Hogmanay. We wished Cameron "Happy Birthday", smiled, kissed and toasted to a brand new year. Merriment de rigueur as we swung towards brand new dawn...


I love this isle from this point of elevation. Brand new year, the wanderer walks through heather and looks for now bathed in pale blue and brand new sun. Kate Bush once wrote & sang, "stepping out of the page, into the sensual world..." This simple phrase sticks through my mind, as I stood still and felt this crisp first day against my skin. At around noon, my northern realm was so dazzling. 


from blue to grey


But then light feels like trapped inside Pandora's Box as clouds gathered as if to signal end of gold... Birds hasted wingbeats and prepared for roosting time. But first, feast wherever it is offered to them.  Inside willows and on feeders, before they switch to sleepy sky... 


The wind still bites after sunset. And from the comfort of my hut, I celebrate this brand new year graced by a generous first sun. 


inspiring world

first sun -

pioneer's fire through new year,

January begins with pale blue.

#haiku fae 60N

happy new year fae 60N :-)

glimpse of light

in between gales


sequence


a triangle of light appeared out of the gloom grey...
Not much at first, from SSE. It's just past noon. A NNW gale blows, overriding storm force winds from earlier this morning.

Contrasts belong to cardinal points.
A few minutes, as I look west. That gale wipes clean-crisp back to blue (oh, not for long). I love the old manse against that less dramatic background. 
At its zenith, our star's elevation barely reaches 7.34º - temperatures have plummeted since gales have ravaged the island.

Looking SSW.
By lunchtime, light shines without shame,
but soon low clouds regain position by the hill! Our afternoon light last about three hours...  

Still from SSW

As soon as our sun begins to set, I need to seek shelter once again,

as  cold rain beads slash the double pane of my window. 

A grey-filled sky darkens my world; only a tiny glimpse of light acts a rebel.

I am day-dreaming of first snow, as dusk settles.

A mix of rain, slush and hailstones crashed on the glass, so why not now. And when I look back towards west, an angry sky begins to show... Welcome to the claws of winter, just as those from the wolverine that dwells inside the boreal forest. 

In time for night, the wind still howls through that gigantic megaphone, though its triads lose frequency. Somehow it became a little bit more Wagnerian! 

And speaking of the boreal world, I shall leave you with a more seasonal string of haiku.

Wings of change -

raven at north junction,

in search of excess carrion.

#haiku fae 60N

Déshabillez-moi -

when first frost starves gardens from sap,

they yield to the wind in a nude.

#haiku fae 60N

Lean times -

wolverine paws in single white,

the raven has to be patient.

#haiku fae 60N

Around the eye of the storm

Precipitated re-entry in winter


Just like a dream.
Inside this great universal cycle, I somewhat lost sense of November. Somebody said there was nearly something wrong with the system... African air filled November. The island warmed, for a moment, to suspended meaning of summer - the very one we never felt on the island! 
Last Sunday felt  so weird when I stood in the middle of my sand-bridge. Warm air currents flowing around as if they ignored the meaning of winter... 


And now it's time to re-enter the spirit of winter.

Entrance to the Café, with terrace
in summer.

I first felt it when I jumped off my car on Friday morning... Gale-force winds turned so ferocious raindrops mutated into hail. And by the time dusk overrode day, we gathered for a hot chocolate at The Peerie Shop by the old harbour, the air turned cold. For a minute, I thought we might be christened with a flurry of snow. 


Now we really feel back in winter. 


Stormdays follow storm nights.


The sky turns black by mid afternoon and empties itself in horizontal style. Tucked inside my oilskin, I haste each pace. Roof tiles dance without shame - the marine forecast reads hideous. I pray our local fishermen moored their vessels in safe havens until wind speed recedes and blows a moment of respite. We are accustomed to the gales. They come, hiss and go. The island turns a ghost rock. The safest place remains by the hearth. So little light lets you glimpse though the edge of the storm.  Our avian friends, wren, robin and blackbird, remain tucked in between the stones of our neighbours' wall. They sometimes perch on the ramskull that crowns Richard's totem, as if they wished to defy each outburst of the storm. However, their act of resilience does not last long. Safety on the ground prevails. The forecasters issued an Amber alert for wind for tomorrow with brighter skies... I keep an eye on the windsock. Rain remains rain as long as winds blow from a southerly direction. Should they veer N or NW-N, I will salute the first snowflakes of the season. My heart's puzzled. They're late this year. 




The shipping forecast reads back to more seasonal expectations. 

Let's go back to Kate's Words for Snow. "Flegme des neiges, Mistral despair... Terror blizzard - creaky-creaky"

pictorial

...Can you hear it, can you hear it screaming? Oppressive, with shafts of madness, burning white. It holds bolts of hailstorms; unleashes ice, surgical blades, beyond belief and darkens wings of all angels... It holds hostage our precious sun, and will not beg for redemption.

among the great windcatchers

man on earth

Leonardo da Vinci and Jules Verne could be proud. 
Such bladed machines face the sky...

In our pursuit to tame the very own planet we inhabit, we often tend to forget it is our only homeworld.  Our constant quench for consumption of energy can drive both producers & consumers to blindness... Sustainable is an adjective I have always heard when it defines clean energy. Wind mills, turbines or windcatchers, I do believe in will power.

 once upon a hill

Saturday afternoon took me to the top of a hill I always looked from the distance. As part of Shetland guide training, I met the Burradale ladies and stepped inside a mecano.

Techno-details at: Burradale ladies

It felt more like Techno-Lego on a large scale, although I'm told blades and nacelles have grown in size since those were built...We all met at Mina's foot. Standing under the rotative blades took me back to Don Quixote... But as I looked above, I imagined listening to the baffles of monsieur Verne's Nautilus...

inside the belly of the beast

We walked up to Betsy. Our host, David Thomson, explained us this elderly lady happened to be the most productive of them all... So we gathered and watched her three blades fall inert. To my poet's heart, she reminded me for a second of Lokkaminnie's oo, this silver-haired bog cotton plant that belongs to the peatlands... Soon we were invited to step inside her belly. Three high metallic steps would make us step just like inside a submarine. Amazing thought! Her tubular body stands up to 45 metres... To me her blades just look like some gigantic propeller. That ladder looked everlasting. Those five turbines have blended well in our landscape and have become our Famous Five! But as we stepped again outside, we faced bullrush and Atlantic with breathtaking views on Foula.

 

wanderer

For a moment, we wandered around the hilltop, and felt at one with an island so generous to its dwellers. There is no doubt deep in my heart about the need to benefit from the harnessing of the wind and have faith in our windcatchers. Sucking up oil, gas alone, or for that matter fossil fuels, is like raping our Mother Earth.... Taming the sun, wind and the tides might help us all live just longer. 

 There is an on-going debate about a much bigger windfarm project on the island. Education diminishes fears. Honesty generates respect. I am a lover of our world, and when I hear nearby nesting birds be considered as a nuisance by a windfarm developer, I also frown at the madness of few fat cats who only see financial gains in their lifetime... My question is: Can we accept a compromise that satisfies us in our world? Today, I heard that storing produced energy costs mountains of money... So does budgeting for conflicts none of us wants to be part of. If politicians, arm dealers and financiers were sent to the frontline, there would be fewer landmines in the world or dirty deals under tables...  After all, time has proven man can be both so destructive and ingenius. Sensible decision making is crucial.

Autumn on the island

everlasting changing of light

Monday began with the sun.
Exquisite light in the garden, as I woke up to earth chorus - October wind fell so silent... All around us, leaves and rose hips dazzled by light; furtive warblers whizzed around trees and found shelter, hidden from cats.
As I set foot onto the grass, starlings flew off like rocketeers - away from apples  we left for them the previous night.

Many visitors to the garden

Birds of many kinds, either local or on passage, always remain a spectacle.  Other winged friends also include a few delightful moths and butterflies. Every spring and well into autumn, we keep a quadrat of wild grass as a welcome. A mini-meadow develops under our watchful eyes. Mammals come too. We're accustomed to our hedgehog, that comes to feed every evening. Field mice are synonym with cats... Our feline gang brings some indoors as "thank you gifts" for our love, care and devotion. Yet the one we found yesterday was well alive! It was sleeping, tucked in the grass. Well camouflaged and immobile, it did not hear (or fell oblivious to) the sound of my clicking camera, as I brought the lens very close. For a moment, I thought it dead... It woke up quickly in our hand :-).

 

October blue monopolised our sky

From dawn till night, with only brief interruptions... On such a day, our enclosed garden's not enough. So I wandered beyond the gate - picked up a friend and ended up on higher ground: peatland deserts, where redwings and fieldfares share sedges  with starlings and ravens... It feels utterly unchartered, since human souls don't congregate at such a height. We marvelled at each earth mirror, final bloom of the tormentil amidst mires... However, that perpetual game of light below the edge of Atlantic captured our imagination. So we wandered closer to shore and ended up among treasures... 

At sunset time

Our world looks just magnificent.

This time a great celestial lid added grandeur to both islands... 

Geese fly above sandbridge and tide...

We walked on both sides of the bridge
and found respite inside the arms of the dragon.

As crimson fled, we retired to higher ground, casting our glance inside the depth of the ocean, as we prepared to welcome dusk...

This week began with timelessness.

wild shore!

the "big" sea

Today I felt the ocean rush, as I walked towards the big waves.

Light has returned on the island. Yesterday's hellery  died away in our sleep... As a matter of precaution, we checked the roof for dislodged tiles.

 The afternoon shone in pale blue

 Wave upon wave, the very edge of our own world endured the might the North Sea. 
 ...Like an army, those relentless rollers crashed against rocks - their every crest defied the sky, and dressed boulders with shameless lace, as if to hide October's skin. 

 before ending up in honey

I sat a moment by the shore and questioned the whole universe.

on the nature of the divine

heart struck by your wisdom,

                as waves, foam & bubbles,
                     similar to water,
                         even our universe is mirrored
in our souls*

thunder so powerful,
I can forget my pain –

            the Holy has so many names, it is nameless;
                so many forms, it stands formless,
                      and since it speaks so many tongues,
                       why not consider Him speechless?**

let me re-consider your name;

                the great abode,
                  like water moving in secret,
                    Being & non-Being – in potter’s shops,
                        vessels of various shapes yet made with that same clay ***
      
your love on every hand,

                and when I speak of the Mother,
                    it is coiled & fast asleep in all centres – awake, potent,
                       above our heads, descending on us to transform;
                        nature of love, wide, pure, divine.****


northern garden, 24 October 2008

poet’s notes:
*) after Ashtavakra, Samhita, II, 4.
**) after Mahatma Gandhi, Young India, 1931.
***) after Mundaka Apnishad, 11, 2, 1-2 & Sayings of Shri Ramakrishna, No. 457
****) After Shri Aurobindo, On The Mother, pp 501-3.

whale of a time?

Puffin mania sounds more like it!

...We create fun with what we have.

When David tells me we go and photograph wildlife, I nod and smile... And think, "ouch, I need to give it my best shot, 'cause he's a lot better than me in that category!" ...No pressure, my telephoto lens is fun at reasonable distances. My flair will do the rest! 

So here it is. 

Saturday afternoon at Sumburgh Head, amidst dare-devils hovering around cliffs, attempting to take off and land without losing too much grace... Yes, the eddies (or air currents) can provide our peerie parrots of the sea with amazing challenges! From the moment we reached the "penthouse" (or grassy slopes around the lighthouse), those peerie guys were flying just like fulmars... Gliding very close at eye level at high speed! Some fun to watch and some challenge for the lens!

And then drama increased with stooping bonxies, our pirates of the sea, (as I call them with affection)  and fun flyers, da maalies, or Fulmar petrels.

I feel so safe behind that dry stone wall in my bubble.

I chuckle at precarious landings although I keep in mind that loss of grace also happens to any creature... That we all remain stardust and confronted to the elements, the world reminds us all of our place. Unlike us, the rest of the animal (as well as the plant) kingdom adapt to the environment.
Hence my total admiration towards what appears so fragile at first glance. Atlantic puffins may look clumsy either on land or in the air, however, their robust bodies and resilience in the real world enable them delight us every summer. 

...And if you really crave for drama, you can still enjoy your last hours of puffin madness through that now famous webcam! A date with nature