once upon a big sky

...how many words for snow?


Up to four seasons in one day we can enjoy on the island. April feels capricious. If I can start to remember what an after 6 p.m. sun can feel, a sudden U-turn to Svalbard (without the polar bears) still surprises the most astute and tolerant mind... So is our fate in the Far-far North. The forecast hardly changed since the past week. I looked at my flowering redcurrant shrubs and thought, argh, weel...


In an effort to break the spell, I played Kate's 50 Words For Snow, though in vain. Since Saturday, a determined sky began to spit flurries that warned us of more to come. I pit-stopped at the main country shop in the southern part of the island to get basic necessities (including those precious firelighters) as part of my effort to spot an early Northern Wheatear around Spiggie. The bird having been reported on Fair Isle, I took my chances. However, I came home without our felines' favourite food...  (NOT the bird.) Peewit looked at me with disdain. Baboo walked away through the flap and Tystie nearly broke a lamp! 
With snow forecast, I can't afford to mess around. Second shopping spree in the town to return home with a jute bag filled with delights, fit for felines and our own needs :-)

Then north wind began to gust around the walls of our Shetland Hut. N/NNE, as time went by and our hearth began to work on a constant basis once more. From those directions, it really feels cold! My other half later joked about Yule time... "Why not set up the tree again and bake mince pies?" I laughed in the face of whiteness! Snowflakes flew in diagonal and by this morning, we opened our door to a mini-version of Svalbard, or mini-mini Canada, not so unusual for April after all, though still slightly disheartening at first sight. Sparrows still sing during snow showers, though blackbirds vanish from their pedestal and wonder if they won't lose out on courtisanes... 


first view this morning

 Although I expected flurries, I did not imagine so much would stay overnight... Snow does not stick long enough to the ground after the equinox. Still tucked in my fleecy blanket with two hot water bottles at my feet, I did not really feel like getting up at 0830 - especially since I am free from timetables! So I lingered in bed a little. All three cats did not make any fracas on the other side of the door. White, white, white, white!

No snowday disrupted the winter term (oh, barely a February weekend) and, gosh, now it's arrived!


White out, psycho-hail, twisting, ankle-breaker, blackbird's Braille, drifting, avalanche... Stellar tundra, crème bouffant, Hunter's dream, hooded wet, terror blizzard, vanilla swarm, sorbet de luge, as  through the lips of Stephen Fry. 

Let me hear your 50 words for snooooowwwwwwwww! 

My world had vanished once again under late winter's white blanket. This morning's Shetland Times did not read too encouraging either...

the other side of the coin in one day

Trillions of snowflakes melting at the speed of light!

Just by magic, as a bitter NE began to sweep away snow shower clouds, a more dignified spring-like blue filled our afternoon  sky.

This time, white light filling our world!

The garden still bears a few remnants from this morning's  capricious sky - with scarfs around trees and shrubs, blotches of crystals dispersed and and there in the shade... But nothing serious. The cats' passage looks safe from grass level. 

From Arctic spell to spring Technicolour!

I love the island. Its light changes all the time. Now time to listen to Good Evening, Shetland, just in time for the weather forecast :-)

february & ravens

LOVE YOUR HEADLAND


February remains an extraordinary month. It is a time when life returns, even if only through whispers. For every journey through the land, familiar sounds add to the light. If gales still prevail through most mornings, precocious signs of renewal become more flagrant after dawn. One hears excitement through the bare trees of my garden. 
Blackbirds, sparrows, gulls, corvids of northern kinds... Geese in gaggles or above heads. All so more noticeable now. It is a hymn to early spring.

That main trunk of tarmac that links the island from north to south. 
My daily run to the town means a good opportunity to watch one of my favourite birds: ravens.
February draped by their early aerial display, those majestic jet black flyers defy laws of acrobatics. Now they come to perch by the roadside for breakfast. Tarmac offers free restaurants for them and all our local gulls that come to feast on carrion. Some unusual and strange way to survive... Yet their success for survival depend on our rate of road kills, mostly rabbits that plague the land.
Ravens have learnt to tame tarmac. Usually found perched on fenceposts, they reconvene every morning in gangs of three, four, five or six and clean the roads of fur and bones...
They've learnt patience and great timing on the approach of vehicles, and will get aloft as headlights become too near to their feathers. As morbid as it may sound,  those muckrakers have turned such formidable opportunists, and their dare-devil flying skills have made them one of the most successful species in our world.


Fascinating species that inspires tales of all kinds.
From folklore to music, their jet black wings do not cease to amaze and awake musings of all sorts. According to culture, they turn devil or gods... In Native American realms, they bring change and  allow you to travel between worlds. In Scandinavian history, Vikings came to our land to collect young ravens as means of GPS - by launching them at sea to find land ahead - on their travels westwards/north-westwards.  
They are present in so many folk tales, songs and omens!

In Music, as here:

And There, the tale of The Three Ravens, Germanic style.

To my humble heart, ravens remain fantastic birds that symbolise freedom in flight.
Every morning begins with them.

Arctic Sunday

back to whiteworld


We have been warned. That exotic (anything above zero Celsius) air would not last long... Kate's 50 words for Snow is playing inside the hut, as am I'm savouring a bowl of warm porridge. The island once more caught in some Arctic spell, with a thin, though icy sheet of snow, has clad every meadow, garden and geo. Our three felines ventured fully clawed on the icy blue.


Peewit the Cat clambered over the crab basket and watched geese in mid-morning sky from his post. He looked a sphinx in this ocean of ice.  Frozen garden in glorious light on Sunday morning. Overnight gales let us enjoy more magic from our Nordic sky, with yet another luminous display of aurora. Mirrie Dancers delighted eyes late in darkness. So cold though through this Arctic air. If at the start of February, I felt on the shore of the Labrador, today makes me think of Svalbard, or somewhere near the horizon of South Georgia, South Shetland or Orkney Islands, or even Iles Kerguélen...  A short walk around my patch transports my heart to those desolate freezing realms. Scott, Charcot and Shackleton  belong to this catalogue of famous polar explorers, and yet, other names, no so well remembered, adorn this list. No leopard or elephant seal, just common and grey ones can be found all around my shore. Each print of snow boot has its rewards. I heard a snippick (snipe) in the nearby field, and geese calling above my head. So was the theme of my stravaig before lunchtime.


Everything belongs to the ice.

In defiance to eyes and claws of February, sparrows and starlings sang during snowfall on Saturday. So eager to chase this spell of desolation, they stood and chirped all around us. Every tree began to feel the weight of winter. Sticky snow whitened our world. But still, birdsong filled in sound this myriad of snowflakes. My Nordic world sounded so light. 

Such desire to feel alive and sing in Saturday's bleakest moments...

June & Richard's Old Manse looks so romantic clad in white. The old stone walls harbour comfort and secret worlds fit for a starling, gull or wren. They too feed birds that come to shelter from harshness. Among bits of twisted branches and frozen garden, tubes of peanuts hang from bareness. Birds know it so well. later they will find a suitable tree to love and fare for their offspring... In the meantime, they have to make do with whiteworld.

Recent haiku & tweets from 60N

Morning distorted by raindrops that could crystallize by Saturday - will have to tell curlews & wrens... #Geopoetics  

Magic words -

 inside book of incantations, 

one spell for snow.

 #haiku fae #60N #Geopoetics #flâneur #snow #dérive

Garde-barrière - 

sur le rebord du monde, 

deux étourneaux attendent la neige.

 #haiku fae 60N 

Now found your footprints in the snow - echoing round the 

whole island! 

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.

Draco dans les étoiles

time to reconvene with fire


It has gained in stature. It is now known around the world. It leaps from island to island... It fills our sky with sparks and light and parrafin lingers in our hearts forever.


Each last Tuesday of January, fire fever sparks off all around town. The dragon's back around our walls, and with it, hordes of boys and men in starting blocks for merriment. In my night sky, Draco awaits curtain of night to show the way. 



On this last day of January, young islanders turn warriors and invest corridors inside their own institution. Everyone gathers to applaud and marvel at shiny helmets. The atmosphere is bon enfant, as staff and pupils play the game until our squad of young Vikings join their elders by the harbour. It is indeed a special day for those young men who represent our school. They too have their own galley to set on fire and walk in footsteps of elders. 

Fire fever animates hearts throughout the day. It kicks early and will demand another day to recover from party time! It culminates with the now famous procession. In the meantime, boys and men have to endure a much accepted marathon by visiting schools, hospital, care homes and whoever wants to see them before sunset. 

The procession well after dusk shines as highlight. Folk from the world come to marvel at boys & men ready to march and  turn their boat into ashes. Impressive prints left in your eyes. As night progresses, the guizing men will engulf halls where women wait to serve and feed with tattie soup (or reestit mutton) and other liquid concoctions until next dawn... For those of you familiar with the opening scene from the movie Beowulf - mind you, minus Grendel and treasures! - the allegory won't feel too strong. In our depth of winter, Up-Helly Aa feels so welcome as light begins to override night in a much more assertive way. 


February born off ashes 

This year, Imbolc follows so close to Lerwick's Up-Helly-Aa.
Imbolc, the Earth's true beginning of Spring, and with it, the very first and timid steps to renewal. 


Our dawns have become precocious - our afternoons linger longer... Sometimes sunsets turn pink and blue in pastel style and this precious nordic light carve smiles in eyes and hearts. It gives us time to wander ("stravaig") around our shore.

 Long-tailed ducks mingle with Eiders & Goldeneyes, common Scoters, kittiwakes and selkies... Little auks have been seen. Ravens re-started their acrobatics, as courtship begins on roadsides at breakfast time. Ravens, once captured by Vikings around the island to be used as scouts & seekers of land beyond seafarers' horizon... Starlings and sparrows filled this morning's sky with calls and chirps, so quarrelsome can they become. Even if the land feels desolate, precocious signals are noticed. Our path to the Vernal Equinox looks now lit. And until then, we shall keep our beacons alight, watch out for ice at every dawn and salute Draco in our sky.


The hearth is keeping us warm. Candles bring smiles when all feels dark. And when our sky feels generous, the entire universe fills our eyes. In moonless night, we can enjoy our Northern Lights. Without a doubt, 60N is a magic place! 

Today, prolific day at the wordbench. So here, a string of fresh haiku :-)

Nuit de feu - 

dry wax & ashes for Imbolc, 

we have been burning wood all night. 

Haiku fae 60N 

Stravaig - 

in-between ditches & potholes, 

follow rock doves & hooded crows. 

Haiku fae 60N 

Parrafin - 

elixir to sun worshippers 

that lingers through depth of winter. 

Haiku fae 60N 

day of sun

day of sun, day of light


my fleeting soul, as Bertie sings. It all felt aerial, so ethereal and magical from dawn till now.  The Met Office application on my iPod had somehow whispered to make the best of our Sunday... Dazzled by blue from dawn till dusk, the island weighed its mass of gold. Fuelled by might of our Nordic light, I packed my heart with adventures found on the shore of the South End - its very tip made of white sand. 


West Voe was littered with uprooted kelp forests tides bring to rest on silver shores after each storm. Warmth on my skin, as I stepped out of the motor and began my first wandering. Whereas folk made it to the other side of arch, I followed the song of the waves and scrutinised the very edge of my own world. Life comes and feasts on rotting kelp,  
from wading friends to the tiniest!


What better spectacle but watch waders - turnstones and purple sandpipers - mingle with lace made by the surf. Each one looked so mechanical every time they got their feet wet! I soon sealed time in a bubble and let my eye play through the lens. 

And yet, behind me, the magic of our elusive jenny wren that too made the most of earth bonanza and played hide and seek in boulders. Magic moments. 





A drive around Spiggie led us to geese - greylag, white-fronted and bean - scattered around the loch and the lush fields in-between Spiggie and Bigton. 

Bigton, la voie royale to Arcania! So I went to salute my dear sandbridge for the first time since Yule and found new rocks on its shoreline... We shall never underestimate the power of water. Oceans and seas carry the world in their currents. We came to find shells of all kinds. And so we did... As spray flew high half-way though the tombolo and tide was high, we found happiness at its base. I marvelled at the game of light through marram grass... Like angel hair all around us. When the world sounds so loud, I always come back to the shore and listen for its earthly song. And love the island in such light. 


By mid-afternoon, I reconvened with my troupe in the town, as theatre needs rehearsals. Dusk draped Sunday without a word. This epilogue back inside night - somewhat distracted by a glow of Aurora in the evening - hovers like a silvery cloak of a day more than well spent. 


And I want to remember how it all began, 

here it is, immortalised, inside a triptych of haiku.

Vol de nuit -

des oies sauvages en escadrille

par delà tuiles dans bleu de l'aube.

Night flight -

wild geese in a squadron

beyond tiles in blue dawn.

#haiku fae 60N

Cri de l'aube -

des fers de la nuit,

merle noir se déchaine.

Cry Dawn -

from night's shackles

blackbird unchains itself.

#haiku fae 60N

Chant du monde -

au dire du matin,

les étourneaux en rang par trois.

Earth song -

to what morning whispers,

starlings in rows of three.

#haiku fae 60N

With everlasting thanks to my other half for his precious shots of geese :-)

catapult

from rocket sky 2 rocket cat

That sunset on the second day of the first month...

felt like a dream.

Rocket-red, winter blue or B&W. 

I loved the cloud movement that gradually clads our Nordic sky on a crisp day. It was awesome. For a moment, I thought this sole image would encapsulate a glorious end of holiday... 

Until the unexpected strikes!

He's not a cat, but a pirate. I won't forget my last two days of holiday. Peewit The Cat gave us a fright on the third day of January, as he retched, hid, and vocalised in a strange way. He even refused his favourite, cuddles & food. We did not wait  long to jump on the handset and called the Feline A&E. The Vet on call had a somewhat familiar accent, which I first thought South African. Errare humanum Est! We put our feline in his box and rocketed to the Westside in a bleak end of afternoon - Peewit mimicking a diva in every kerb, as tarmac took us close through gales and rain. I suspected he eventually developed a secret love for the veterinary surgery! Little did we know we took him on time. He was awaited by a young Veterinary Officer, who quickly diagnosed feline bladder as the main culprit. Not South African, but Flemish, with beautiful French! This time, Peewit would taste emergency surgery with full board till he would be fit to go home. The hut felt strange without him, even though our two other feline pirates, Babooshka and Tystie, amused us till his return. Peewit came home yesterday with a shaved butt and many more loving miaows. I was ever so grateful & thankful to the devoted staff at the surgery, especially to Cathy (the Vet) and Kaye (the Nurse), who took so much good care of our muggy. Our hearts felt so lighter. Oh, yes, that first week of January will not be forgotten! I never saw classroom re-start, as days vanished like stones projected by a catapult.

Now, with the weekend came thrills and smiles! If yesterday, Saturday, was devoted to retrieve our loving feline, Sunday would take a twist none would suspect. As Peewit re-gained his gargantuan appetite, tuna chunks concealed his daily antibiotic mini-nugget. I first found Babooshka on the kitchen worktop foraging for any crumbs, just like a food hoover - or now nicknamed as "Googlegrub" - as she still thinks her grand age would let get away with anything... Tystie remains the only reasonable one. All three were tended with love and care.

 By late morning, a series of Tweets alerted us of island fun in our inshore waters. Orcas, Killer whales, were spotted and, although I had to be in Lerwick for drama rehearsal in early afternoon, the chase began. Grutness, Levenwick, Hoswick, Broonies' Taing, Sanick, Noness. Magic placenames that rhyme with breathtaking seascapes and opportunities to enjoy not only seabirds, but cetaceans when the conditions are united. 
A first attempt to Broonies' Taing led us to the bay at Sanick, where dorsal fins were playing so close to the shore. Magic moment! Watching those wonderful beasts in the wild remains a formidable spectacle. Folk flocked to the roadside that leads to the headland of Noness, as the pod of orcas - one bull and two females, from what I could see - swam along. I felt like a child in a toyshop just before Yule! They were magnificent. Again I forgot time and sent a quick tweet to my Serpentine actors, for I knew I would be slightly late for the afternoon. I shan't forget my weekend either. 

Life on the island is never dull! 


With renewed thanks to my other half for photography :-)


AND grateful thanks to Helen Moncrieff & Magnie Shearer for keeping us on the right track! :-))

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 :-)