Monday, 6 February 2012


Out there along the riverbank, before the snow came, I was enchanted once again.

The slightest of movement in the birch wood. Some arousal and she was awakened. I gazed on her and she took me as her lover one more time. She is a Dark Muse that flits between the roots, boughs and branches, between the earth, sky and water. Sometimes she sparkles with star and sunlight, sometimes she moves through the dark leaf-litter.

Slowly she is driving me to madness, and although almost unbearable, I cannot be without her. She feeds me with sweet bites and savoury morsels. I must always return for more. 

A long time ago a song was forged for Leannan si.
"I shall kiss from end to end the long black wings.
On, captive dove, whose heart throbs wild beneath my hand!
I shall take your mouth as a child takes its mother's breast.
Tremble! For the kiss sinks deep and should suffice for love." 
And so my days are filled with her enchantment, and the nights are restless, full of fitful nonsense.

Tuesday, 24 January 2012

knot irregular

Are they shadows, ghosts, spirits, impressions or imaginings? Waymarks?

Or all of the above? Stay out there on the fellside long enough in winter, and reason, paradox and ambiguity stop arguing and start agreeing. You just slide along with it, over the ruts and hidden frosted roots.
With earth and rain the seed germinates. The strengthening sun and air breathe on and all will flourish once more.
Springs well from the earth and spill and trickle and creep down to the nearest gullies, and push on down with boisterous pairings to reach the South Tyne. There they rally, rude and vulgar in their collective strength, to push aside boulders and trunks, and head in comic tragedy for the sea.
At night, the stars are scrubbed to powder by clouds, tumbling over each other in their haste to lick the hilltops with lusty long strokes of their dark tongues.
Even when the wind takes a rest, nothing seems ever completely still. The leaf litter squeaks and crackles. Frost sifts from slender twigs. Buzzards mew in slow arcs above. There's something in the trees.