The Quiet of Night

A Fathers Choice

2012-02-25T06:44:00.000-08:00

A few moments within a shop revealed a great deal to me. I stood trying to mind my own business at the back while other customers were waiting for orders. To the side of me was a young couple with their daughter. The little girl seemed a bight soul and was questioning her father about his work and was clearly concerned about the fact that might well be spending some time away.

She asked him "Why do you have to work away?". He bent down to he and replied "Daddy WANTS to work at sites up and down the country so daddy can make lots of money". For a moment she was quiet as she thought over his words "Why do you want earn more money?" she said drawing out her words as if carefully considering her question.

"Thats because mummy & daddy WANT a better life when you are older," he replied quickly.

"I don't want you to be away, can I come with you?" she asked looking a little upset. "No you can't come with me," was his quick response.

Glancing over to the family I decided to draw on the unsaid and finish a fuller picture. They were all wearing good quality or even designer clothes and adornments. In many ways I would expect the mother & daughter to take time & pride in their appearance, but the father was also well groomed with neatly trimmed and gelled hair and a silver stud earring to match the shining frames of his modern spectacles. To complete the image of the family I was aware of the aroma of perfume & deodorant, nothing overpowering but clearly the prospect of body odour was not considered acceptable with them. Perhaps the family were as affluent as they appeared to be or perhaps like so many they desired to be seen as affluent and created the look by spending more than they should.

The fathers words sat uncomfortably with me and I wondered what meanings his daughter would take from them, from the conversation I caught it gave the impression they were not fully satisfied with what they had and that the need of money was more important than a father spending time with his daughter. Doubtless there is a bigger picture to this brief snap shot of early twenty first century family life, but I have seen such scenes before and I am inclined to think that it is normal within society to be like this.

Yet again I am left as the barbarian wandering off into the darkness feeling enlightened but also a bystander to aspects I find awkward.

The Look Out

2012-02-18T03:17:00.000-08:00

As I wander the lanes and tracks of the east midlands I am sometimes blessed with a sighting of a barn owl. There are often images to conjure the very essence of a place. Usually they are reduced to the level of sports teams or a flag of some kind, but for me the presence of this bird captures the spirit of the lands I walk. From the Fens to the east to the rolling fields and hedgerows between woodlands I have seen the distinctive whites of the barn owl and every time I have been close to one in flight I have not caught the sound of the wing beats.

My latest sighting was during the week. I decided to take a short drive to a nearby woodland to wander for a couple of hours. It seemed fortune was smiling on me as I had the darkness of the country lanes to myself, unlike most motorists I take the opportunity to drive more slowly when there is no need to keep with the flow of the traffic. I find I am able to relax and take in more of my surroundings. The headlights picked out an occasional aging rural home among the hedgerows and fields as I rolled down the country lanes. In the distance was the dark bank of woodland trees sitting below a clear night sky where the call of the tawny owl would be there to greet me on my arrival. Rounding a gentle corner I noticed a familiar white shape within the naked branches of a winter tree. The barn owl barely cast a glance at me, but remained still aside from a turning of the head to survey the land around us, no doubt keeping a look out for the next mouse of vole to break cover. I slowed as much as I could by dipping the clutch and coasting to reduce the engine noise as well as prolonging the sighting but I had no wish to stop and disturb the bird.

Once I had passed beneath the owl I lifted the clutch and regained a little speed. My thoughts passed to other bloggers who seem to enjoy the sights and sounds of an owl within the night. From Casey at the Snapping Twigs blog , to Earthen Magic down in the southern hemisphere and Lloyd Kahn over in California. It seems the humble owl holds a special place and a certain company for those who are willing to wander and perceive in the darkness. I have added the links for their blogs below should you wish to visit. I should also pass on a thank you to my friend Dan's daughters Ella & Rosa who accidentally gave me the nickname I write this blog under.

http://earthenmagic.blogspot.com

http://lloydkahn-ongoing.blogspot.com

http://snappingtwigs.blogspot.com

A Cage of Gargoyles

2012-02-15T15:57:00.000-08:00

In the early evening of the city I found myself walking downhill towards the victorian splendour of the railway station. To the side of me lay queues of traffic, headlights, horns and a sea of miserable looking faces staring at the tail lights of the car infront. Some vehicles were pristine examples of german engineering snobbery, others were more modest affairs but all stood still only shaking occasionally when a bus sped by in the adjacent lane. I have no desire to sit within the atmosphere of urban impatience and instead opted for the train service hoping for a less stressful journey home.

I left the streets and made my way onto the platforms to see a majestic long train waiting, gazing through the windows I could see seats a plenty and looked forward to a most comfortable journey. When I reached the door I noticed the train was destined for London and was not my service. I trotted along past the train to the end of the platform. There stood the chariot to take me home. A single travel worn carriage, filled to bursting with evening commuters.

"You must be kidding me," I muttered under my breath as I chose the less crowded of the 2 doors to try and gain access.

The man in front of me had no intentions of letting me on. He stood stubbornly in the doorway and after a moment I realised I would have to either play chicken with the closing carriage doors or push past him. I excused myself and stepped around him being treated to a tut and a look of utter contempt as I went by. The other passengers in front of him carried the same expression and refusal to move down into the seating area. I managed to get by and was just beginning to make my way down to a standing space further along when the train guard shouted at me "WOULD YOU MIND MOVING DOWN THE TRAIN...PLEASE!" he barked as he glared at me. I could feel my temper getting a little frayed around the edges but decided it was not worth pointing out the obvious to him. No doubt he would take it as aggressive behaviour and call on the intellectual genius of the security guards to solve all his problems and get me ejected from the train.

After a few minutes of standing within the center of the train the engine roared into life and the heaters were promptly tuned up to full, it was only another few minutes before I stood sweating and shifting awkwardly as the train moved off. I looked about me to the other passengers, most were plugged into iphones and submerged themselves in whatever digital world took their attention away from their environment. The others bore a look of discomfort and general misery. Only one man carried a smile and that was chemically induced from the half finished can of strong larger he clutched in his hand, it was without doubt the ugliest train I had ever been upon. As we stopped at a station or two, some spaces started to appear among the standing passengers. Finally a man left his seat and cautiously made his way towards the doors, the business man sitting in the seat next to him promptly spread out to take over both seats and stared angrily at the floor to avoid making eye contact with anyone left standing.

When we finally reached my station I was out of the doors like a greyhound from a trap, the cool night air was a blessing and helped wash away the stress of the confinement. I found my lantern, sidestepped a vehicle being driven erratically by another passenger and stepped away into the darkness of the country lanes to head back to the hovel.

Within the space of an hour I had been witness to many of the attitudes and trappings typical of modern western life. If this is civilisation I am glad to say I am a barbarian and will go my own way.

The Travellers Rest

2012-02-12T03:51:00.000-08:00

The hard packed ice of the country lane made for treacherous steps as I made my way towards the quieter green lane for my evening wanders. The clear night and cold air pulled the heat from my face and I was left fumbling for my scarf to shield my bare skin from the chill. Well away from the towns and villages the landscape was frozen solid and the silent force of the winter temperatures could fully take hold. It was a relief to reach the green lane. The deeper snow and rough surface made for better grip underfoot and the dogs could be released from their leashes. After a moment or two of an excited cacophony of barking they began to run, leaping the deep ditch exploring the fallow field alongside for signs of rabbit.

With my arms free from restraining the dogs I could adjust my coats, hood and scarf to better effect and move more freely, enjoying the sights and sounds of the frozen landscape and allowing my thoughts to tumble around as my perceptions increased. My destination lay a little over a mile away and I was looking forward to being a little warmer from the walk once I reached it.

After a few slips and slides I finally arrived, to most people this was a place to give no reason to stop, but for a few of us it is indeed special. Halfway up a gentle hill on a little used country lane I stood beneath two bare trees looking up through the stark branches to the moon and stars far beyond. It was here not so long ago I stood in good company with the family of a friend to scatter his ashes. I had only got to know Fred a couple of years before he died, we shared an enthusiasm for dogs and walking. I enjoyed listening to his tales and experiences as he freely passed on his wisdom. It is a pity he never had the time to write them down, but the knowledge and love for life he had is now something I and others carry forward and evolve into our own experiences. I find I am able to take comfort from this and in some ways it feels as if he is still with us.

I reached down to give Robbie our boarder collie a pat. He was Fred's dog and came into our care a couple of weeks before Fred died, now well settled with us, he seems to enjoy wandering with me and I have a feeling Fred would have been happy with that. The few moments standing still had brought the cold back to my hands & face, it was time to return back to the hovel. In my mind I said a farewell to my friend and headed off back down the hill, homeward bound.

Teachings of a Smoke Dragon

2012-02-04T02:57:00.000-08:00

With the crackling of rain around me I looked into the fire and appreciated the warmth. To anyone passing by on the near by railway line the sight of a roughly dressed person sitting in the rain by a bonfire wrapped up in a plastic sheet it the must have been a strange thing to behold but I have long since given up about such passing glances. Within my body and head I could feel the discomfort of infection and the last few nights I seemed to be shivering with a permanent chill regardless of the warm clothes and heaters within the hovel, but the bonfire brought its raw elemental presence to press heat deep within my core and loosen the muscles from a clench as my body had been trying to hold every bit of heat it could.

I knew well what had brought on the ill health, it was time spent in an office with central heating and the concentration of coughs and colds brought in by the other workers. Such environments seem to breed germs with a ruthless efficiency but the need for work had forced my hand and committed me to spending more time in the offices than I would like. Back in a more natural realm surrounded by the elements and far away from the crowds I could feel the first stages of healing.

As the rain grew lighter and the sky began to clear I could catch my first glimpse of the stars and a gentle breeze spiraled the plume of smoke around me like a chinese dragon stretching from the origins of the fire and winding its way into the night sky. From my perspective I can see reasons why we need space and nature. Elements need to move easily, forced contained will only bring stagnation, this in turn will bring the creatures and organisms that will thrive there. When they flow well the conditions begin to suit the natural state of people and the creatures we hold dear to show us all is well.

Perhaps when people realise life is about the flows and cycles of elements & nature and not about the power & the grabbing of resources there is a chance to find a greater peace and healing within ourselves.

The Homeworkers Commute

2012-01-28T03:48:00.000-08:00

Perched quietly by the window I eased my way into the working day. With the frosts consigned to the earlier days of January the ground now held a cool dampness and as the sun strengthens it gives a hint of the spring to come. Movement on the edge of my peripheral vision drew my attention from the screen before me and through the window to the sight of a field vole scurrying around in the undergrowth outside. Short bursts of speed allowed the little creature to cover the open ground between cover as scraps were scavenged. Working away from the cities and clutter of people regularly brings such sights for me and I find I miss them greatly when I am called back to civilisation. After enjoying the most welcome distraction I returned my eyes to the screen and carried on until wrens and dunnocks took their turn to pass through my field of view.

Hours ticked by as shadows swung and lengthened before the setting sun brought the blue skies to a deeper hue and the stars and crescent moon gently appeared over the horizon. I stepped away from my tasks, wrapped up warm against the evenings chill and set out with two of my dogs to clear my mind of the thoughts and intricacies of my work. The country lanes were surprisingly busy, headlights and the drone of car engines hiding the commuters passing to and from the near by village & its railway station. Remaining on the lanes was looking unwise and far from peaceful, I chose to take the green lanes, footpaths and edges of the fields to leave the commuters to their rushing around and embrace the peace & darkness.

With the chill wind blowing across the fields and it was a relief to be away from the lea and in the shelter of the hedgerows. The soft ground took its toll as my boots plugged into the mud and the simple act of walking left clouds of condensing breath in the air around me. The early crescent moon was also frugal with her light and I had to resort to using the lantern for a while as the hedgerows tailed up toward the small copse and woodlands.

Miles ticked by as my body warmed with the effort of the walk and finally I was glad to be heading downhill and back towards the flat fields near our hovel. The long grass of the fallow land helped to strip the mud from my boots making steps easier as I made my way into the last half mile. My dogs had clearly enjoyed their walk, they were spattered with mud but still enthusiastic with their gait as they pushed towards the hedgerow bounding the field edge. A shape emerged silently above the hedge and sailed by me to slowly hover and patrol the field. I turned the lantern on for a moment to see the elegance of the barn owl, who seemed to be forgiving of our presence and more intent on the hunt. Within the edge of the lantern light and with a turn of the wings the owl held a space within the air for a moment before folding and dropping into the long grass. I have little doubt a field vole would have been taken and it would not be long before the owl would be on the hunt for more.

I turned off the lantern and finished my wander, the back step of the hovel was soon adorned with my muddy boots and the dogs were relaxing in the warmth. I too was grateful for the warmth and the chance to sit down, with my mind filled with an enriching experience I settled into a chair as one of the last of the commuters drove past on the narrow lane before the hovel. I suspect our journeys would have been very different.

Frozen Fields & Time

2012-01-22T03:27:00.000-08:00

The silent energies of winter held the landscape in frozen form. Not even the gentlest wind stirred the hedgerows as I walked home across the fields and a stillness spread to the near by lanes and cloudless sky. Beyond the skeletal forms of the bare trees I could see the fading dusty yellow of the January sunset through a distant haze. I paused for a moment to take my place in the scene, balancing on the frozen tractor rutted ground. My mind travelled back to the days before the hard frost and I remembered watching the field voles foraging for nesting materials to make for warmer slumbers. Again my mind travelled and settled on this time within the last solar year, I remembered the ice and deep freeze. How the biting cold had frozen the water supply to my hovel on four occasions as the frost traveled deeply into the earth and turned the country lanes into a skating rink.

I pondered the moment and returned to the present as a single form fluttered above the landscape. The silhouette of a kestrel hovered over the hedgerow before me looking for the voles, his shuddering wings holding him still within the sky while the landscape fell beneath the sharpest gaze. The fields suited the little falcons and I have watched them thrive here. Hundreds of years ago the woodlands would have dominated and the hawk would have ruled the spaces between the trees where the falcon would have been unable to turn. I cast my eyes to the distant lights of the village and wondered how long the land will remain in this form. With oil and resources would come the expansion of settlements. As they diminish the sprawl of humans will become less of a threat as true sustainability and the need for food will be a forced issue.

As the light faded, my breath clouded the air before me and the kestrel moved on to new grounds I decided to head home. I moved from the field to the narrow lanes with the lights from the hovel growing steadily closer. If I could have looked into the future I would have seen a new scar appear on a familiar roadside tree. Within a few nights a van driver would become ill at the wheel of his vehicle and leave the road to smash into the tree within the ditch. That night a lady from the village and I would be the first to stop and help him and call the emergency services.

Time can seem to move slowly out here but life can change in an instant.

The Young Immortals

2012-01-13T03:11:00.000-08:00

I often find myself driving down darkened rural roads, usually it is the crawl home after a day out working and more often than not it is a chore and not a delight. Earlier this week I left a clients office after sunset and began my homeward journey through the hills of the peak district. As I climbed one of the hills I looked over the dry stone wall to see the spectacular full moon flanked by the illuminated cloud. I have seen such a sight hundreds of times before but it never ceases to make me smile. Familiar miles began to roll by as I passed through the quieter lanes into the glaring lights of the towns marking the half way point of the journey and back onto the rural roads as I began the descent down towards the river valley.

For a while the traffic was light and I found myself chugging along with the tarmac and hedges lit up by both moonlight and headlights, for that short while driving was a pleasure and I could understand something of the obsession the modern person has for the motor car. Inevitably I was not alone for long, other headlights appeared in my rear mirror and soon I had the familiar sight of a car tailgating me and weaving on the road as he looked for an opportunity to overtake. On a straight stretch he took his chance and in a rasping roar of an overworked and poorly maintained engine, a modified boy racer renault struggled by sporting the usual array of customised wheel arches, oversized bean tin exhaust, budget spoiler and blacked out rear windows. He was shortly followed by a motor cycle bearing the same traits as the car but with an even more impressive noise to poor power ratio!

I had to smile, I remember the freedom transport afforded me as a youth and the excitement. Even if it gave the impression of tastelessness and poor judgement. The vehicles headed off into the distance but it was not long before I had caught up with them behind a line of traffic. The young drivers were obviously toying with each other. They would overtake each other but not the traffic in front of them, repeatedly dropping into lower gears and over revving the engines, they used their vehicles to obstruct each other and their overtaking became more erratic. There was certainly a chance this was going to end badly. The motorcyclist finally threw caution to the wind and undertook the car. He squeezed through the narrow gap between the car and the kerb at nearly 60mph and appeared briefly in front of the car before slowing down too much and being overtaken again.

As we reached a roundabout I found myself in the left lane, clear of traffic I gently chugged past onto another road leaving the duelists to their journey. In my younger years I could remember the excitement of fooling around and the feeling that nothing bad would happen, or if it did someone would help. I have my own experiences of close calls together with moments of horror and realisation to draw on. I consider myself lucky to have survived them and learned from them.

I wonder if the young lads on that journey will have such a privilege or if they will have the life torn out of them on a darkened road by the forces of speed and the ferocity of the elements.

Searching in Circles

2012-01-02T03:27:00.000-08:00

Certain moments in life can make you realise how things can turn in an instant and change from ordinary to disaster within a heart beat. On the 22 December I had one of those such moments:

We had been asked by a friend of a friend if we would consider rehoming their German Shepherd. We were a little reluctant at first due to having 3 dogs already (one of which is very old and in need of quite a bit of care) and also because money is tight. But after a discussion and meeting with them we realised he is a good dog and could well fit within our existing pack. It turned out the current owners had only owned him for a month having adopted him after his original owner from a housing estate area decided he didn't want him. As we stood in the middle of the farm with chickens strutting around we were told of how he seemed unable to leave the birds alone and how he just did not seem to bond with the farmer but he was quite attached to his wife who was a quieter soul. After watching his behaviour and taking heed of the situation we decided the dog was fine and just needed a more appropriate home where he could settle and where we would have more time to spend with him.

After picking him up on the 22 December we spent a little time walking him and socialising with our adopted Boarder Collie, who can be a little touchy with other dogs. As evening fell I took him for a walk on the lead to a local wood and he seemed to be settling. It was only as I returned home and tried to get him out of the back of the car that things went wrong. As I opened the boot he bolted, shot through my grasp and raced off into the night. It was the proverbial "oh sh!t" moment. I followed as quickly as I could but he had gone. I began search by foot and car while my good lady began making contact with the local police, dog wardens and the dog lost website.

Over the next few days we received only sketchy sightings and promises from dog walkers and local businesses of their willingness to keep an eye open for him. In three and a half days I went no further than 15 miles from our hovel but I covered more than 500 miles by car and on foot. Christmas day was spent searching the housing and industrial estates near his first owners home. It was as we returned home in the early hours of boxing day my mobile rang. A vets in Lincoln had had a dog brought in and after catching up on their Christmas e-mails and seeing the dog lost website realised there was a good chance he might be our new boy.

We leapt back into the car and headed round to them. It was him, he lay in a kennel with a broken leg and clearly confused but delighted to be getting some fuss from the vets and ourselves. He had been hit by a car in a near by village. The driver had not stopped and after crawling into a garden the home owner had found him and contacted the RSPCA. After reassuring the vets he would be looked after we returned home with him.

The following days brought about anger and frustration of the highest order, as we had only owned him for a few hours before he went missing and had not had the chance to sort out insurance we tried to get him treated with the PDSA and the Blue Cross. Both told us they were sorry but because we were out of their catchment area and not receiving housing benefits they were not willing to treat him. We had contributed to both these charities (especially the PDSA, who my good lady had made regular monthly donations for many years) and felt badly let down by them. No doubt the CEOs of the charities still enjoyed a good wage far in excess of our own, so we decided to cancel our contributions and refrain from assisting them in any way in the future. Our own vet managed to make contact with a well respected and reasonable vet surgeon who could carry out the surgery for us so we decided to drive him the hour and a half to the clinic and scratch together the payment rather than prolong his suffering any further.

He is now sleeping outside the bedroom door and is settling in. I am left reflecting on the people I have come into contact with over the festive season. The from the wonderful local businesses, individuals and the splendid www.doglost.co.uk down to the pen pushing established charities who claim to be there to support the animals and their owners in times of need.

I would like to say a special thank you to the people on twitter who have given us encouragement and spared a tweet or two to raise awareness (thank you Di, Jess, Winterette, Craig, Binnie, Pandora, Joanna, Jocelyn & KT).

Learning to Fly & Needing to Swim

2011-12-22T04:20:00.000-08:00

A small procession of hi-visibility jacketed men trudged through the plywood entrance gate to a building site. Despite the threat of redundancies, work still carries on albeit with less enthusiasm and a lot more mutterings and grumbles from staff. Walking into the meeting room I spotted Karl, a likable fellow who shares my enjoyment of dogs. I decided to grab the seat next to him and enjoy a quick chat before we began with the formalities of the meeting.

Karl is the proud owner of a 2 year old Newfoundland dog. For those who are unfamiliar with the breed they are water dogs and can grow to quite some size (around 170lbs). His training and day to day life is usually interesting to say the least. Within a few minutes he had informed me they were not having a christmas tree this year due to the fact the dog had stolen last years. After hearing rustlings in the depths of the night he crept downstairs to find his faithful dog dragging the tree by the stump from the living room into the adjoining room. He also informed my his good lady had agreed to buy another Newfoundland puppy without first confirming the price with the breeder. I nearly fell off the chair when I was told the cost was £1200!

A couple of hours later we found ourselves leaving the site and walking the steep hills of a peak district town back to a clients office. Once again we returned to our canine conversations, the result of which left me leaning on a wall trying to catch breath between guilty laughter bouts. The previous night Karl had taken his Newfoundland for their usual evening walk. The winter rains had left the ground sodden with several large muddy puddles, naturally the dog enjoyed these immensely and steered Karl towards them at every occasion. Realising he could end up spending quite some time cleaning his dog before settling into a comfy chair for the night Karl made the decision to walk along the much drier tow path to the Chesterfield canal. All went well for a short stretch until something caught the dogs attention. In a sudden burst of energy the dog leapt from the tow path and into the canal, sadly for Karl he was clutching the other end of the lead and was caught off guard. It is apparently a strange sensation to find yourself flying towards the black waters of the canal. He was unsure of turning his flight into an elegant dive or curling up to cannonball. Regardless of the method of entry he found himself swimming, much to the delight of the dog who was clearly well pleased to be sharing the environment with his master.

After scrambling out of the canal he was faced with a cold and wet half mile walk home before being greeted by the horrified exclamations of his partner as he slopped in through the door.

Karl should you pass this way please accept my thanks for the tale, I can only imagine what you will happen while walking a second young Newfoundland. I hope any one else who has called by has enjoyed it too.

Braced Against the December Air

2011-12-13T16:56:00.000-08:00

A familiar feeling crept into my shoulders and around my eyes. It was the dull ache of stress and clinging tension, slowing my thoughts and ladening my body with a state of unease. The last couple of weeks have been awkward to say the least. Work issues seemed to be constantly cropping up in my mind. It had not been helped by the high winds and driving rain of the last two days. I had to abandon our usual wanders as it was plainly unsafe to be walking within the woodlands or the country roads, but to try and explain this to my dogs is of course impossible. They remained restless by their containment within the hovel.

Tonight the winds had eased slightly and the sky was clear of cloud and full of moonlight. I decided to take to make a short drive to a nearby woodland and allow a few miles of muddy trails and the roar of air through the trees to clear my mind of the tensions within. Releasing the dogs from the back of the car was a noisy affair of barking and excitement as they rushed along the first track and into the undergrowth. I followed as I could holding onto my hood and wrapped up against winters cold blast. Nervously I watched the tall conifers for a while to gauge their movement in the winds. After reassuring myself of the conditions I felt at ease and stepped deeper into the woodland and away into the shifting moonlight shadows.

The wider trails and clearings left me leaning into the wind and bracing myself against the force, but once within the trees the coldness lost its bite and the warmth stripped away from skin covered by 3 layers began to return. I turned to the smallest of paths within the trees, some are barely a foot wide and tangled with roots, tree stumps and fallen branches. Even with the brightness of the moon I had to resort to the lantern to ensure safe footing. Its white light captured the gentlest of movement in the branches and gave the depths of the wood a feeling of moving and breathing with the winds. The trail would have been impossible to follow were it not for my familiarity with it. A bare branch pointed the way as the trail vanished in the root system of an old tree. As I passed by I reached for the branch and patted it with a gloved hand as I have done many times before, in many ways it is like shaking hands with an old friend.

Passing though a shallow ditch and stepping over a fallen tree I could hear the eerie sounds of the steel gates in a near by field rattling as if an old ghost sought to discard its chains. The hedgerows and oaks stood bare against the starlight with every leaf ripped from the skeleton of the canopy. The winds hurtled though the empty branches rattling them in a strange applause as I trudged through the waterlogged and mud bound pathways beneath them. By the time I reached the drier routes in the centre of the wood I was breathing hard and relieved to be on firmer ground. These routes gave an easy walk for a mile of so back to my aging car standing on the edge of the road untroubled by the vehicles who trawl through the darkened car parks used by the visitors in the daylight hours.

I slumped into the drivers seat and enjoyed a moments rest before heading off. My mind was clear and my body was comfortably tired from the enjoyment of walking and breathing fresh air. I still have many tasks ahead of me for the week, but the feelings and fatigue clouding my mind & judgement have lifted, and all for the sake of a hour or so within the realm of nature and the elements.

The Crucible of Moonlight

2011-12-08T02:25:00.000-08:00

One beautiful aspect of walking at night is the relationship of the scenery to the moonlight and the phases of the moon. Familiar sights can be transformed from the depths of shadow to a resplendent scene in an instant making even a regular journey a different experience every time.

One such place for me is a glade to the western fringe of a Nottinghamshire wood. The closeness to the fields and the greater spacing of the trees seems to act in a way to collect the moonlight and sets itself aglow with the silver light. A fine sight with the woodland undergrowth shifting shadows onto the earth and spectacular living columns of the trees standing proud against the darkness of the deeper wood. Sitting within the centre of the glade are the roots and lower trunk of a fallen tree. Its curious fracture line forms a rustic chair with a seat and a rising shard of its old sapwood to create a back rest.

I often stop for a moment to appreciate the sight before me, but strangely I have never felt the urge to sit within the rustic chair, perhaps something within me tells me the experience would not be as comfortable as I would hope, but also to step into the scene seems an inappropriate imposition. In a moment the scene can fade to grey as the cloud covers the moon but retains its form in the veiled and reflected light. Passing by the glade within the hours of daylight I find it blends with the surrounding wood and is impossible to see the qualities it shows in the night. This is supported by the walkers I have observed marching by without even giving a glance in its direction. It is indeed a pity to see people missing such splendour. There are lessons I carry from this place to help me understand the perspectives of light, scene, passing time, seasons and the elements. I hope you will one day find such a place, a place that is both ordinary and completely spectacular.

The Rend Limb

2011-12-03T15:55:00.000-08:00

The world is awash with languages, from the tones of humanity to the communications of the natural world. The more time I spend in nature with my own mouth closed and my perceptions open, the more I begin to understand of the signals given off by creatures around me. With soft steps on a woodland trail I listened to the sharp calls of the little owl deep within the darkness and the familiar calls of the tawny finding their like high in the canopy above.

My gaze returned to the shadows of the woodland floor as I looked for my dogs. With a whistle akin to the call of the little owl I summoned them from their adventures. Clattering through the undergrowth they appeared on the trail beside me and in their own canine language began to speak volumes without words. My lead dog trotted around me with her head held high and her tail slowly wagging from side to side, closely following was my collie his pace matching the steps of my lead dog as she paraded. Their strutting caught my attention and I wondered why their manner had changed from a few minutes ago. Clutched in the mouth of my lead dog was a stick and for a moment I was reassured of their language and of a game they were playing to establish positions within the pack. I set off on the the trail with the two dogs circling me.

Moments passed before I again became suspicious of their behaviour, normally the stick would have been quickly broken in powerful jaws and the game would be over but the parading and strutting continued. Both dogs stopped abruptly as I demanded their attention and called them close. This provoked a stubborn reluctance from bearer of the stick as she tried to lure me into the same game being played with my collie. I refused to play and refused to lead the pack further on the trail until she came to me. Pace by pace she slowly approached until I could grasp the stick.

Beneath my glove I could feel of fluids of saliva and soft tissue on what was actually a bone of a considerable size. It took some effort to take it from her, but after a struggle I found myself holding part of a leg. Turning on the lantern revealed it was not the butchered discard of a picnic or barbeque from the daylight visitors to the woodland. This had been torn from a carcass and still bore skin and matted fur. It also held a coldness to tell me the poor creature must have died some time ago.

The lantern light reflected in the bright eyes of my dogs waiting excitedly for me to cast it aside, I decided they would not have the pleasure and looked about me for somewhere to dispose of it where it would be out of their reach. I placed the limb within a near by tree much to their annoyance, I suspect anyone walking the trail in the dawn would be given a gruesome surprise should a creature not discover it before they do.

For a moment I considered the fate of the poor fallen beast and a reminder to me of nature in the raw.

One False Step

2011-11-27T14:03:00.000-08:00

Strange how things can change in an instant and how the ordinary can become something so very different in the briefest flash of time. I have often been wary of this while wandering alone at night and I take steps to keep risks to a minimum, even on my familiar trails I am well aware that an injury or fall could cause considerable difficulties.

Yesterday brought about a moment of the unexpected. I will only take my oldest dog Fen (she is mentioned in the post The Company of an Old Friend) on longer walks once or perhaps twice a week. My good lady will taker her on gentle strolls near to the hovel and during daylight hours to keep a careful eye on her. In many ways it suits both of them, my partner broke her ankle a little under two years ago and her recovery has been a long one. While I was making a few repairs to the hovel she decided to take Fen for a short walk to stretch her legs. Taking her phone she headed out of the door with Fen excitedly bouncing around beside her.

Almost half an hour passed by before my phone rang and I found myself on the end of a cry for help. It was a brief dash down the country lanes to find them at a bridge crossing one of the larger drainage ditches in the area. Fen had managed to stumble while crossing the narrow foot bridge and had toppled off the timber planks into the ditch some six feet below. She was already shivering from the cold water and caked in the thick slurry at the bottom of the ditch, my partner had not the strength or footing to get her over of the steep sides and Fen had repeatedly fallen back in after making several attempts to get herself out and given her advanced years she had simply run out of strength.

I slid down the side of the ditch and joined my dog in the filth. It took a hefty lift to drag her clear of the mud and after a few careful steps up the ditch bank I was able to lift her back onto the bridge where my partner escorted her onto the country lane. Amazingly Fen was unhurt apart from being very cold. After getting her back home and cleaning her up with warm water she seemed to be non-the-worse for her fall. Another such step at another time could have brought about far more serious consequences.

The ditches in this area seem to catch people out every winter. Usually drivers who hit ice, but last year I was once nearly in the depths of an icy ditch myself until I realised I was about to take a wrong step. Sometimes it takes a close call to bring a moment of clarity, the trick is remembering those moments and recalling them at the right time.

Travel well and travel safely my friends.

The Stave

2011-11-24T02:51:00.000-08:00

It is always a pleasure to visit and talk with a craftsman. Last week I made a brief visit to a local woodworker to look into replacing a broken quarterstaff. During the time spent standing chatting outside his small rural workshop his enthusiasm and knowledge of the staff and the longbow was easy to perceive. Within a few minutes we had discussed the merits of timber and grain and I left having purchased an ash stave.

On my way back to my hovel I realised how my view of purchasing had changed over the years. Ten years ago I would have been making a trip to a specialist martial arts supplier in a big city and probably would have paid too much for a neatly turned (and probably an imported) staff. Its light and elegant form would have spun quickly and easily through the air but in reality it would have been of little use in terms of its strength & durability. In the times I would have needed it for walking support in poor weather it would also have over flexed and possibly been more of a hinderance than a support.

The stave now sitting in my studio is a robust item and is very much in a raw form. I will need to shape & finish it myself to suit my own needs, what it lacks in refinement it certainly makes up for in substance & potential. I have little doubt that as it takes its final form it will be an item which should last many years, take the knocks from sparring with my good friend on our twilight meetings and also travel many miles with me. I also take comfort from making my purchase locally and to a fellow enthusiast. Perhaps if more people bought locally we might find people making a living within their communities, developing skills and getting more enjoyment out of their labours rather than looking for that middle management role within the big company to lift them off the shop floor.

The Young Poacher

2011-11-15T13:59:00.000-08:00

With the sun obscured by the clouds & fog I caught fleeting glimpses of the Peak District countryside as I enjoyed a free ride on my way to work. Conversation flowed easily between myself, the driver and a fellow passenger as the miles ticked by, all of us were enjoying the commute and with little traffic on the roads good humour and past tales were shared.

Our driver recounted growing up in the countryside of the area and as a boy had lived with his family close to the land owners estate. Passing by a small river he told us of his desire to fish the rivers on the Dukes land, but as his family were ordinary working folk the fees to buy the "rights" to fish were well out of their means. He also mentioned that for a while he did not have a fishing rod either but undeterred he would sneak onto the private lands and down to the river to tickle trout.

On one occasion he slipped up and was caught by the game keeper. Hauled back to his parents house he was presented back to his father on the doorstep and received a telling off & a clip around the ear in view of the gamekeeper. Once the door was shut his father said "sorry about that lad, did you have any luck with the trout," he replied that he had, and his catch was safely hidden in his inside coat pocket. Much to his fathers approval it had appeared that dinner was as fresh as it came that night.

His brief tale brought a smile to my face and also triggered many fond memories of enjoying the outdoors as a child. I couldn't resist telling it here. As more of the countryside comes under threat from urban sprawl, development, increasing population and sell offs, I wonder if a few stolen moments on privately owned countryside will be the way it is enjoyed by those without the funds to pay for the privilege.

(Should you ever pass this way, thank you for the tale and for the lift John)

Within the Gloom

2011-11-12T01:37:00.000-08:00

The familiar sight of mist and rain greeted me again as I stepped into the woodlands. With the solar year heading towards the winter solstice it is to be expected and one again I took enjoyment of my solitude in the gloom with the chance to order my thoughts and take stock at the end of a difficult week.

With the student protests and the occupy movement taking centre stage on the social sites I prefer to use instead of the media it becomes easy to see how many of the ordinary people of the country are feeling. With so many people being brought into a system where money is the measure of your worth and the main resource for gaining the essentials of warmth, shelter & food, it becomes understandable that such resentment shows itself when the promises of the past begin to fail.

This week I listened to two men I am working with revealing the facts of enforced pay cuts & reduced pensions, together with their thoughts on what they could possibly do without and how to make funds stretch a little further. Last month I listened to a good friend telling me of changes to his place of work and of redundancies being enforced, not because the company was running at a loss, but because targets were not being met.

Such times strengthen my resolve to break away from the systems as they are. I still work, but I have made the choice to invest any money that can be spared into my own endeavours. As I make these improvements I should have less need of money and hopefully I should gain greater freedom and quality time. I live in a place rich with natural & sustainable resources, I hope to spend my time with these. I can have warmth, shelter, food, good company & inspiration all for a fraction of what I am paying at the moment. But I need to make adjustments to my life and home to allow the effects of these. There are also things I will need to do without, luxuries that many a suburban dweller would consider too great a loss, but from my view I will consider my life to be richer without such things.

Within the gloom I found my eyes had adjusted, paths lay before me. I have a feeling my journey is only just beginning.

The Mists, The Wolf & The Phoenix

2011-11-09T15:11:00.000-08:00

What a difference twenty four hours can make. Last night I took to my wanders among the mists and rain. In the light of the full moon the mists carried a white glow between the dark forms of the trees and gentle rain relentlessly fell upon us in the darkness. I have noticed many people dislike such evenings, but for me they are magical and beautifully quiet. I long since gave up listening to the dull tones of the weather report and the patronising sympathy of the announcer to declare that bad weather is on the way, but never mind. Weather is simply weather and I prefer Billy Connolly's thought of "put on a sexy mac and go for a walk".

Tonight was different and beautiful to the eyes, the full moon lit up the trails and trees, casting long moonlit shadows into the depths of the wood. I glanced upwards to the moon between the trees, the light clouds had formed a wolf like shape in the dark blue of the night sky with the full moon sitting as an eye within the form. Small fallen leaves sat on the trails reflecting the silver light and laying a glorious path before me.

I wandered the paths and gazed up through the darkest of evergreen canopies catching fleeting glimpses of the moon & stars as I sped along the softening ways between the trees. Once in a woodland clearing I gazed upwards again to see the clouds had taken a phoenix like form, again the full moon formed the eye. Looking about me I could see I was the only person for miles, no lanterns, no lights and no human sounds reached my senses deep within the wood.

Given the nature of human beings to dominate everything they can I find such evenings are a true blessing. Good company is a fine thing, but it is well to look upon the distant splendour and stand uninterrupted in awe for a moment. Light, darkness, life and the elements conspire to create a special moment, and I was glad to stand and watch it.

The Secret of Learning

2011-11-05T04:51:00.000-07:00

I have had many teachers in my life, some paid to do so and others unwittingly giving me far more than they realise. Learning (along with thinking) is something I see as a skill in itself, it needs to be practised and honed.

Sitting at a desk in a lesson while information is presented to you is only the smallest aspect of learning. Sitting at a desk and drawing in all the information before you is far more significant.

Every part of what sits before the learner tells its tale, from the clothes and appearance of the teacher, the delivery, the marks on the desk left by previous students right through to the building fabric itself. All portray the real message behind the situation, the incidental information begins to speak far louder than the technical lesson. Once I made the switch to this way of thinking and learning, vails began to fall. The systems, thoughts and the wills of others became clear.

Such learning and thinking needs to be calibrated, for this I return to nature. I found when I looked upon nature in the same way, I became part of a world which does not seek to categorise me as humans do. It is life, essence and it is existence in its purest form (with of course vast lessons without the coded language of people). This is something which I find useful when assessing the approaches of others. Their own agendas and the agendas of their upbringing and past teachers become much clearer. I can then learn deeply from them and be well aware of the hidden.

Enjoy teaching what you know,

Enjoy learning what you do not,

Enjoy time spent in good company

And look for the lesson beyond.

Memories & Paths of Autumn

2011-10-31T17:20:00.000-07:00

Tonight I stood beneath the crescent moon within the nearby woodlands to gather my thoughts. I find it a strange time of year, quite magical in some respects and absurd in others. A few days ago I found myself running an errand for my good lady, I wandered into a supermarket and found myself face to face with vast quantities of plastic skulls, rubber spiders and model witches holding cauldrons. Many of them emitting moans, screams cries for help or laughter. A shop floor worker stood among them smiling brightly and asking those who strayed too close if they would like to buy one. I glanced past the plastic macabre to see the christmas isle taking shape.

An all too familiar sensation was settling in, the question of just how out of touch I am becoming with human affairs, or perhaps worse still the possibility that your average shopper takes all this within their stride and no longer chooses to question the meaning behind the facade.

Beneath the moon I allowed my thoughts to drift to more personal matters, it has been another year where a loved one has passed away. With the falling leaves of autumn and the softness of the moonlight I thought of her. I miss our regular phone conversations and her voice is still fresh within my memory, I suspect it always will be. I thought of the lands we are from and the tales and history. I cast my mind to others of my line and good friends passed on and thanked them. The soft energies of autumn always seem to draw forth such thoughts and it seems appropriate to pay my respects.

Within the past I find more than memories, there are lessons, teachings and paths to the present & the future. As always I will gladly take to the paths and perhaps with good fortune will meet fellow wanderers. Should it be so, I will toast your good health & look forward to hearing of your experiences too.

The Company of an Old Friend

2011-10-26T05:28:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I received one of those calls I dread. Sitting with a client in the Peak District our discussions were interrupted by a message from my good lady to tell me our old dog Fen had fallen ill during the day. After driving through the twilight traffic and seeing the beginnings of a storm forming ahead of me I made it back home.

With the storm gathering outside we sat with our old dog and tried to give her some comfort. Time seems to pass slowly when your mind is full of concerns and it was a little while before I realised the skies above our home had become clearer with only an occasional cloud drifting by to cover the stars for a moment. I decided to take a stroll with Fen to see if some gentle exercise would help her discomfort and also give my good lady a much needed break after a day attending to her needs.

A short while later we found ourselves in the woodland with the ground around us illuminated by the white light from my lantern. Above us the night sky remained clear but with the surrounding trees still shedding the water from the earlier downpour, glistening shots sped down to the undergrowth rattling the foliage and carrying the sounds of heavy rainfall in an echo of the storm. We wandered slowly along the wider well trodden paths and woodland road, stopping every now and again to ensure journey was a pleasure and not an endurance for Fen. In the distance the storm clouds still lay heavy on the horizon and flashes of lightening lit the sky and landscape in spectacular and blinding flourishes.

Further along the track we reached a familiar clearing and again we stopped, this time it was to watch an etherial mist rising against the distant backdrop of the lightening and the clouds gathering the light from the town a few miles away. With our eyes feasted we moved on into the quietening trees before taking a track that would lead us back to the car and the warmth of home.

I have no idea how long my old companion will be with us, at sixteen and with her health failing she is certainly well into her last years. I remember with great fondness the exploits of her youth and the energy of a young dog happy to be taken into a pack after being rescued by a shelter because her original owner had left her tied up on a bus.

She still has her love of life I will do the best I can for her.

(my thanks to two twitter friends, Di (@di-lew) for her best wishes and also to Jocelyn (@Miss Phosphorus) for her work & inspiration in finding homes for shelter dogs)

Listening Within The Silence

2011-10-21T05:47:00.000-07:00

Blessed with the surrounding elements & nature there is very rarely a total silence but compared to the comings and goings of people it may seem so, it sometimes seems that folk even strive to avoid the quiet as I have mentioned in a previous posts. Often I have seen an uncomfortable shifting as a conversation trails off between people and often the conversation turns to the mundane to avoid the pause. When company is not available it is easily replaced with technology; television, radio or the internet are there to fill the spaces of a mind missing its barrage of stimulus. Alternatively silence develops a stigma of focus, the need for a 2 minutes silence to mark a tragedy or the silence of the academics exam room.

To sit within silence for a while and open the senses and mind to the natural world can bring a wealth of awareness, creativity and peace. The mind and body begin to resonate with a very different frequency as the quiet information of our surroundings beings to seep into the body and nourish the spirit. Like many skills, such a process is not always easy, living in a world saturated with noise and clutter the mind tends to grab at thoughts or looks for distraction to turn its full focus on to. Wants and desires can begin surface taking the mind away from the present to a possible future.

Once I had learned to sit within the silence of nature and perceive the seasons, elements and time around me for a while I was able to carry the thought patterns & perceptions with me to other places or even the close confines of a conversation and do the same. With a mind tuned to the vital baseline of the natural world, the words and games of those within a debate or the passions of an enthusiast begin to take on a new meaning and perhaps not the meaning they would wish to convey.

I found that within my own silence I began to understand deeper issues, by perception and not preconception or focused thought. Within the natural realm all sounds carry a wealth of direct information and even the quietest can carry huge importance, to filter out the deceptions and irrelevance in the dealings of people is a skill I feel I am becoming competent with, but it seems to have the effect of making certain people uneasy. That is something I am comfortable with.

Paradise Abused

2011-10-15T03:15:00.000-07:00

As I wander I have realised many times that we should live in paradise. Within the natural world we have all we need, but sadly it seems we do not have all that everyone wants. Many of the places I pass by show the scars of industry and mining, some are still active, some have been closed for decades and nature is beginning its reclamation of these areas. But within the landscape the ruts are there to be seen and below our feet sits the unwanted wastes in concentrations way in excess of the natural order of things.

This week fellow outdoors folk over the other side of the Atlantic have raised my awareness of the proposed mining extraction at Bristol Bay. I was staggered by the size of the proposals and the sensitive location. Over the last few years we have had horrific damage caused to the environment by developments such as tar-sands and the spill in the gulf, but here we are once more, still looking at highly destructive development.

I find myself wondering how we came to be in such a situation yet again. For my thinking it is partly down to the way developers and investors see land purely as a commodity and partly because money is perceived as the main security for the future. Perhaps one of the awkward issues is the realisation of smaller involvements, how we save and invest small sums of money for pensions, savings or bonds without questioning how the banks will give you the promised rate of return. Maybe it is time to take out some finance to get that new car, after all how are you going to know what the companies you transact with will invest their profits and what commodities they will work with. I must admit I have been guilty of both of these in the past, but I am determined not to repeat my mistakes.

Until we look carefully at our own dealings and truly question the effect we have, there is always the chance of money being invested in one country causing huge problems for others elsewhere. If that is of little concern, perhaps it is worth remembering that money invested overseas could cause hardship on your own doorstep.

For me the lands and seas are not commodities, they are an integral part of our very existence. We should always harvest carefully and treat them with respect. Below is the link to raise awareness of the goings on at Bristol Bay.

http://www.savebristolbay.org/

Waxing Shadows

2011-10-08T05:07:00.000-07:00

With the clear twilight skies and the waxing moon, the autumn woodland becomes a truly enchanting place to be. Walking the paths I find myself cast into contrasting worlds of light and shadow within an instant. Looking towards the moon I find the lea side of the tree trunks are in pure darkness but beyond them to the canopy of pine needles hold the silver light and as the branches shift gently in the breeze, they are as shimmering clouds only slightly overhead. Turning my gaze from the moon the trees are vibrant and defined by the light against the depths of the wood. My own moon cast shadow is defined and thrown to the undergrowth.

From the deeper within the woods I can hear the calls of many tawny owls, such a night always brings a host of calls from the canopy. Once I have passed by the realm will be theirs to survey and hunt. Scattered on the floor and shifting in the breeze is the first falls of leaves rattling their way through the wood before the rain of future nights presses them to the floor and their decay begins to fuel the growth of future foliage. Ahead of me on the path I can hear the disgruntled raspings of a badger. My dogs seem to have learned to leave them alone, but it doesn't stop their curiosity when the happen upon one on the footpaths. The rasps and growls serve them reminder that these creatures do not appreciate canine attention and will return to foraging and the set once we are out of the way.

Nights such as these are a blessing, within a few weeks the turning of the season will bring the winds and rains of late autumn to soften the steps. Within my teeth and bones I can begin to feel the chill of the cooler months growing as the solar year draws older.

The Chase in the Clearing

2011-10-06T02:48:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I witnessed a chase between my lead dog and a rabbit she had seen in a woodland clearing. The chase was furious pace of long runs down the clearing paths and weaves through the low plants. As my dog had not yet had her evening meal she took after her prey with hunger and pure intent, the rabbit was clearly in prime of life and had no intention of ending up in the life crushing squeeze of the jaws of a german shepherd. The rabbits smaller frame allowed for cover among the undergrowth and rapid turns, my shepherd was simply bigger, faster and much stronger. Where the rabbit ducked beneath the cover, she would simply crash through.

My dogs had a meal waiting back at my hovel and I had no intention of watching her kill the rabbit, but my first attempts to call her off failed as she had focused intently on her prey as only a hunter can. As the rabbit turned from the undergrowth and took to the path another quick turn was made and to my surprise the little creature ran towards me and my older dog. If we had been hunting the creature it would have been a fatal mistake, but I held my older dog and stepped away from the path to give a clear run past us. My shepherd was bearing down quickly on the rabbit, the ground drummed to the beat of passing feet as the rabbit passed me kicking up a small cloud of dust from the dry track. As my shepherd was passing I stepped towards her and called her. The moments distraction was enough to slow her and give the rabbit time to turn back to the undergrowth. I called her in to my side and praised her for her return.

I looked up to see the rabbit reaching the cover of the taller undergrowth by the tree line. Looking back to my dogs I could see their noses lower to the floor and they immediately picked up the rabbits trail and began to track. Their relentless nature brought a smile to my face but I was determined the chase would not resume. Again I called them and lead them away down the path.

Watching nature in the raw gives meaning to flesh, it carries life, spirit and meaning. Later that week I sat drinking black coffee in a fast food restaurant. The children there seemed more interested in the plastic toy with their meal over the food itself. Sadly in many cases there seems to be little reverence and a loss of connection to the food sustaining us. The sight of the rabbit running for dear life is burned into my memory now and for me helps remind of the reality beyond the packaging and trinkets to sell us cheap food.

A Tale from Lucky Bob

2011-10-01T05:09:00.000-07:00

One of the pleasures of wandering and traveling the country lanes is finding a like minded soul and exchanging a tale or two. A few years ago I was working in an office in south Lincolnshire for a couple of days a week, it was there I was introduced to Lucky Bob. A that time Bob was approaching his retirement age and was one of those people who I tend to think of as a true gentleman. He was friendly, polite and professional but also had a razor sharp wit and a perceptive mind ensuring he was nobodies fool. Although he had not been blessed with the best of luck in his earlier life, it seemed fortune had begun to smile on him over the previous few years and had even won three significant wins on European lotteries setting himself up nicely for his oncoming retirement. He continued to work because he enjoyed it and he was good at it.

Realising we both had travelled the rural lanes on many occasions (Bob was often driving, where as I have a preference for walking) we began to chat and exchange experiences, I will now pass on a little tale he told me, this has brightened a few peoples days over the years when I have recounted it, I hope it does for you. For me it proves that wealth does not mean worth. I hope Bob is now retired to his cottage in France and is enjoying both red wine and fine company.

Working freelance, Bob had often to take contracts in offices some distance from his home. He tried to make his journeys as enjoyable as he could to avoid the scrum of driving in the rush hour traffic and the scenic routes were a welcome break from the nose to tail driving. He recalled that one such morning many years ago (in the time when mobile phones were not affordable almost all of the population) he was winding his way down a country lane, enjoying the peace and freedom of a quiet road before a day in a warm office. He glanced in his mirror to see a car in the distance behind him and thinking nothing of it he carried on driving as he felt was safe for the road. A few moments later he glanced in his mirror again and realised the vehicle behind him was closing fast and must surely be traveling well in excess of the 60mph speed limit of the road. Feeling a little wary of the driver behind him he carried on, deciding to maintain his speed just has he would if the driver was not there.

Within seconds his rear view mirror was filled with the sight of an expensive Jaguar car just a couple of feet from his back bumper and snaking around in the lane to try and overtake. Bob carried on keeping one eye on the mirror wondering what the driver behind must be in such a rush for. Again he kept to his speed and within his lane deciding the driver would overtake when it was safe to do so. The lane weaved its way towards a sharp blind corner and Bob slowed his speed as any normal driver would. The roar of engine noise behind him became deafening, glancing into his mirror Bob was horrified to see the driver behind had lost both patience and reason. He started to overtake on the blind corner, the next moments felt like an eternity as the Jaguar rounded the corner on the wrong side of the road and with no possibility of getting back into lane without colliding with Bobs car. Luckily for both Bob and the other driver there was no oncoming traffic and in a squeal of tires and smoke the Jaguar found its way in front and back into the correct lane before accelerating off into the distance.

Bob was left shaking with adrenaline as the danger passed. He was also left opened mouthed by the recklessness of the Jaguar driver, if another vehicle had been coming the other way, they would have been lucky if any of them had survived. A few deep breaths and a shake of the head helped him regain his composure and he carried on his way thankful to be in one piece.

The next few miles passed uneventfully until Bob could see something to chill the blood just off the road ahead. He pulled up at another steep corner to find the Jaguar wrecked in a hedge having crashed at some considerable speed. He switched his hazard lights on and leapt out expecting to find bodies among the wreckage. He was surprised to see a business man clearly shaken but apparently unhurt. "Oh my god, is there anybody else in there?" Bob asked. The business man replied "No", Bob looked about and could see no other vehicles or people what so ever. "Is there anybody else involved?" Bob asked. The business man shook his head "No, just me he replied,". Bob looked the man up and down before asking "And are you ok?". "Yes I am fine, its just the car that is wrecked," he answered.

Bob just smiled and said "Thats a pity," with that he climbed back into his own car, switched off the hazards and drove off leaving a stunned business man stranded in the middle of the countryside.

The Return of the White Shadows

2011-09-27T04:13:00.000-07:00

Setting out in the late afternoon I find myself in a realm of colour, the red of the hawthorn berries against the yellow greens of the turning trees in the hedgerows and all against a backdrop of sky blue. The young rabbits are ever present at the edge of the long grass taking their chance to dash across the county lanes while flocks of sparrows flit along the edge of the fields taking their fill and making the best of the hedgerows cover from the threat of the sparrowhawks who seem to melt from sight in the taller trees until a careless bird strays too far from the safety of the flock and foliage.

As time passes and the sun lowers, the horizon takes it crimson hue, throwing long shadows as the air begins to cool. Fluttering wings of the kestrel portray a mastery of controlled flight, holding position over the ditches and field edge. Dipping and repositioning further down the lane after the land has been scoured by the piercing eyes of the little falcon. Across the field the vixen takes her turn to run, this rural predator shows no desire to raid close to the village before the cover of darkness.

Night draws in with soft steps and quiet miles, the breeze and gentle rustling of leaves fills the senses of hearing and touch as the blue fades to the horizon and the depths of space are revealed overhead. As my eyes adjust to the silvers, grey and black of the nightscape I am treated to the rising white form from the ditch further down the lane. The Barn Owl floats and drops on silent wings, they have been a rare and distant sight in the past summer but the cloudless evening and the harvesting of the small creatures has summoned them from their roosts to grace the darkness like white shadows.

Within the quiet of the land, the cycles of time, nature and light are turning in harmony.

Moon Drenched

2011-09-17T06:02:00.000-07:00

Clouds anointed by the moons silver light passed slowly and silently overhead set against the stretching blackness of the night sky. We stopped on a timber bridge to drink in the sight of the mill pond before us, such a calm body of water under the full moon forms a spectacular pattern on the earth as if reflecting the entire cosmos and laying it at our feet. A moving shadow and a gentle ripple declared the presence of a water bird, the ripples moved across the reflected face of the moon animating the reflection and serving as a reminder of the movement of life within the shadows and moonlight.

Leaning on the timber handrail for a moment I glanced into the darkness beneath the bridge. Within such blackness it seemed time itself had chosen to rest and a small portion of the world descended into an elemental stillness so rarely seen on this crowded isle. The timber bridges and the mill pond have been a sanctuary for us for many years, the turmoil of the day with the frictions of living close to many indifferent people always seem to melt away. I have often listened to people refer to the curtain of night and have found it a strange saying. Here the curtain seems to have been drawn back, before us in the sky and in the reflection is distance, space & time. Filling the senses and showing a depth of existence way beyond the blue skies of summer and the direct warming light of the sun. Where the sun brings light and life to wonderful aspects and landscapes, the darkness gently shows the true depths of the realm we live in.

The Uneasy Watchers

2011-09-09T04:41:00.000-07:00

My recent wanders seem to have shown a different side to the woodlands from my usual peaceful meanderings after twilight. Arrangements and appointments have left me walking in the early morning and early evenings during daylight hours, with the light I decided to reacquaint myself with area of the wood I normally steer clear of. It would appear little has changed in the areas accessible by vehicles. A usual array of closely parked clandestine vehicles with shady sorts talking in hushed voices positioned themselves just off the car park road under cover of the tree canopy and foliage. Heads turned and conversations stopped as I passed by. One of the trees was adorned with the the word "weed" painted in red paint across its trunk and patches of fast food litter lay about where I suspect they had been cast from parked car windows.

Once away from the vehicles and road the serenity of the woods returned. The clatter of the wood pigeons wings was the only sound to raise itself above the gentle breeze in the trees, the shafts of sunlight seemed to shift and move in time with the movement of air. Many of the smaller paths had become choked with undergrowth leaving only the main paths clear and easily passible. I headed for a place where an old watch tower once stood but was disappointed to find only the rotten remains of its main structure ripped to the ground and scattered among the trees. On finally finding a clear small path I decided to change course and found myself treading carefully around deep tire ruts from heavy machinery which had long since passed by. At the paths end I appeared at a small car park deep within the woods. One vehicle positioned itself at the head of the car park, its owner gawping at me out of an open window with his head resonating with the battering of drum and base from a stereo possibly more powerful than the engine. I returned to the smaller tracks and made my way round and back in the direction of home.

Again the serenity of the woods returned to me like a welcome shroud, I found myself stepping over small fallen branches and ducking beneath the low canopy. One of my dog pack stopped to scoff a few blackberries from a trail side bramble, I have had the company of many dogs over the years but he has been the first to show me such a skill and never a cut mouth from the thorns close by the fruit. With the walk approaching an end I found the trail passing through a ditch. The summer had left the bottom of the ditch quite dry but the presence and arrangement of planks showed the footholds to avoid topping out a boot in the winter months. To the side a makeshift fence or handrail had been dug into the sides of the ditch. Standing in the bottom of the ditch it seemed the world was a silent place barely touched by the wind overhead, after enjoying the peace for a moment I carried on, back towards the car park area where stares and uneasy sideways glances would await my passing intrusion on in the world of the secretive and unwelcoming watchers.

A Key Within the Mind

2011-08-31T16:14:00.000-07:00

I am rarely alone when I walk the woodland tracks at night, my dogs are good company and the breeze through the darkened leaves whispers gentle songs to flow around me as I make my way through nature's time and space. On occasion something malicious travels with me like a deranged creature muttering spiteful thoughts to interrupt the gentle songs on the breeze.

Last week I suffered one of these presences, normally as I walk the mutterings lessen as if it tires of following me and pales into insignificance beneath the sight of the stars, but not so this time. I stepped away from a life of corporate advancement many years ago when I realised I was becoming someone I did not like, but recent circumstances has pushed me back towards dealing with some of the personality types I used to come into contact with on a daily basis. Their office games and methods have pushed their way back into my work and I have found the thoughts clinging and lingering past the closing of the office doors.

As I wandered my thoughts would clear but were soon snapped back to dealing with issues that had no place within the woodlands. I could feel my anger growing both with the situation and with my inability to throw the thoughts from my mind and gain a little peace. I find an enraged mind is a little like a caged wild creature, it lashes out at those who stray close to the cage regardless of their intentions or well meanings. I decided it was time to deal with the issue and put things into perspective before those close to me could begin to suffer.

I walked with my pack and the demon within my mind to the western edge of the wood where the twilight from the sunken sun still set the horizon aglow and I stood beneath the canopy edge. As space, light and landscape stretched before me I began to gain a sense of the scale of the movement of planets and stars turning in space. I also began to flick through images and sounds within my mind to draw relevance to the scene before me, sounds seemed to fall into place to accompany the songs of the breeze and after a while a song I had enjoyed but not listened to for many years began to play (here is a link to the song, however I do believe that anyone else who searches for a song, text or image to gain a connection to the wider world and their place within space & time will have their own, and these will be of far more relevance to the person who searches them out) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u1pyvnw9Sko

As my mind became calmer and resonated, the thoughts that had previously plagued me faded and vanished. I was relived I had not looked for distraction from my own mind. The distractions of sports and entertainments seem to fill the minds of many I have worked with and they seem to reach a point of obsession as pressures grow, but for me distractions are short lived cures for my problems, to turn a key within the mind to gain connection and perspective brings a comprehension and steers me away from the "head in the sand" cure.

The Bones of a Shelter

2011-08-09T03:34:00.000-07:00

With the storm clouds building overhead and the distant rumble of thunder passing across the woodland I stepped off the wide track and onto the woodland floor beneath the dense canopy of the conifers. The woodland floor was carpeted with fallen pine needles and lay barren of the undergrowth that flourished in other areas close by. Before me lay abandoned shelters, their framework resembled the exposed carcass of a long dead beast clustered around the tall trunks of the pine trees.

I walked amongst the structures as the first drops of rain tapped into the canopy overhead. The frames had lasted many years but the covering of branches and fallen debris had slipped to the base of the frames or had been carried away in the passing of time. Some shelters would have comfortably held a single soul for a night or two, others were bigger and must have held a few occupants. I smiled as I stood among the rustic ruins, it appeared the youths from the village near by had received instruction on how to put together these shelters and had no doubt enjoyed some time in the company of friends and mentors in the past.

In the failing light and the approaching storm the bones of the shelters could have passed as a woodland sculpture. A bold statement of form and function harvested from the surrounding environment and gently decaying in harmony with its surroundings. Earlier in the evening I had passed the remains of another abandoned camp, a budget tent lay broken and strewn with plastic bags, its decay was far less harmonious and brought the traces of a throw away culture to a place that should be treated with a greater respect.

I allowed the images of the harvested shelters to fill my mind for a moment, I suspect it had been many years since the woodland floor had been used for teaching and enjoyment in such a way. I hope the sight of the shelters will spark a fond image and perhaps encourage another group to enjoy the experience.

Contrast of Night & Day

2011-08-04T03:19:00.000-07:00

Earlier this week I was reminded of my past life, sitting in an uncomfortable humid heat within a clients office I watched as staff became ill at ease with each other and the tasks passed to them by management. I remember well the feelings of striving for promotion and struggling with systems and instructions made by those who are not hands on with the projects on a daily basis. It was a relief to leave the office at the end of the day, but such relief was short lived as I sat on congested roads for two hours steadily baking in my own sweat with the sounds and smells of combustion engines around me.

It was early evening by the time I arrived back at my hovel and after taking care of a few tasks I decided to take two of my dog pack for a wander to help clear my head and enjoy the cooling air. Low clouds obscured the twilight sky depriving me of the vision of the emerging stars between the trees as I set off on familiar tracks and the issues of the day were still turning in my mind in an attempt to distract me from the here and now. It was perhaps a quarter of a mile before I could feel myself beginning to relax and enjoy freedom of movement as the muscles began to shed the tensions of the day.

I emerged from the cover of trees into a wide clearing on a broad and little used vehicle track. A sharp call cut through the breeze and caught my attention, turning I watched two sparrowhawks chasing each other through the young trees in the clearing, vanishing for the briefest moments in the lengthening shadows before reappearing within ten yards of me and circling around me calling as they went. I gained the impression they were not hostile to each other and were perhaps young hawks enjoying their last flight of the day before settling for the night. As they sped away into the far reaches of the clearing I lost sight of them and carried on to the tree line and turned to the smaller tracks.

My two dogs trotted ahead into the gloom, eager to stretch their legs and enjoy their freedom until I was aware of the sounds of growling and scuffling from the track in front of me. I assumed they had perhaps come across a stray dog and I ran forward to ensure a fight would be quickly stopped. I was surprised to find my two dogs either side of a badger, needless to say the badger was not happy about the canines following and investigating as he trotted towards me. The badger stopped for a moment as he realised I was blocking his escape along the path. Standing to the side of the path I created a gap for the badger to escape, the creature scurried by and was only perhaps three feet from me as he accelerated past and into the shadows. It took a few stern commands to prevent the dogs chasing him as they followed their instincts.

Returning to our journey it was only a short distance before we came across another night creature lurking at the edge of the wood with the boundary of a sheep field. Both dogs halted and held their gaze to a vixen watching the sheep. The vixen soon realised her position was exposed and in a flurry of movement sped for a gap in the fence and sprinted across the open field. Again it took stern commands to the dogs to prevent them from giving chase, but I was rewarded by the sight of her escaping to the hedges beyond the open ground.

With a journey of such sights it was little wonder I was calmer and happier by the time we reached the last of the woodland trails and began heading for home. It was a relief I had not given in to the temptations of a chair and the distractions of the TV, within the twilight I had been given far greater gifts.

The Urban Forager

2011-07-24T15:23:00.000-07:00

On the back road hidden among the urban sprawl lights from the takeaway and the street lamps bathed the tarmac and the parked cars in an unnatural glow and contrasted with the deep shadows beyond their reach. Passing headlights and the drone of engines passed by on the main road at the top of the embankment above me and the occasional footfalls and conversations of people walked by filled the air between the passing vehicles. I leaned against my aging car and enjoyed a quieter moment in an area that becomes intolerably cluttered with noise and the passing of vehicles and people during the day.

A shifting from the shadows and undergrowth of the embankment before me caught my attention, a rat appeared from cover and scampered across to the litter bin some ten feet or so away from me. I remained motionless as the creature gathered itself and sprang from the embankment to the rim of the bin before diving inside and emerging a few moments later with a mouthful of takeaway food. In a swift movement he sprang back into the cover of the shrubs and vanished. A little patience rewarded me with more sightings of the tenacious creature as he returned time and time again to scavenge the scraps from the litter bin.

I have never found fear in watching such creatures, just a willingness to understand their resourcefulness, the lack of wild predators combined with the busy road to keep the domestic cats at bay, together with the ready supply of thrown away food provides them with such rich pickings. it is little wonder they go beyond survival into thriving and flourishing. It seems our transient existence and throw away culture suits such creatures. Watching the movements of the creature I found it to be both powerful and agile for its size. Leaps to and from from the edge of the bin to the floor three feet below were achieved with ease and even grace. Watching the passers by and listening to their conversations about current trivia and sports I was hardly surprised to find I had more empathy and understanding with the rat.

Within the urban night, nature has shown me where there is abundance a creature will emerge to take advantage. If the thought of such creatures is abhorrent, perhaps we should look at the abundance we have given them and why the predators who would naturally control the numbers are prevented from doing so. No doubt someone will soon contact the local authority about the bold forager and insist they send a "man" round to deal with the problem. I doubt the issue will be looked at in any depth, just another short term solution involving poisons will be the likely outcome.

A Seat in the Canopy

2011-07-06T16:29:00.000-07:00

Line after line of tall conifers stood to attention either side of the worn earth trail. Each passing step provided the same hypnotic effect as the planted lines revealed themselves and it seemed only the undergrowth provided the aspects of random nature around the base of the trunks and scattered the regular patterns of the shadows off the setting sun. A subtle twist in the path ahead signaled the end of the plantation area and the sight of self seeded silver birch and taller undergrowth began a gentle sprawl back to the impression of a woodland forming its way in its own time.

I followed the turn in the path and began stepping towards the edge of the wood in what was rapidly becoming twilight. Oaks lay on the western edge of the wood against the boundary with the fields, lining the dry ditch and overhanging the arable crop rustling gently in the slight breeze beyond. Propped against one of the straighter trunks of the last trees was a giant ladder formed of branches from the woodland. To the top of the ladder sturdier timbers formed a seat and backrest setting a chair among the lower canopy with a makeshift handrail to give security to those who would trouble themselves to climb the lookout.

The sight of the simple structure brought back fond memories of tree houses and the excitement of climbing in childhood years. I found it a shame that the lookout viewed over the field and not the woodland, but it was perhaps built for providing a vantage for those who cared for any livestock that may have roamed the field in past years. Within my mind I became aware of the possibility that I could well be mistaken regarding its purpose. Perhaps it could have been built for the fun of it. If something is built for the reason of an alternative perspective and enjoyment itself from such modest means as the fallen materials around the area it could indeed hold qualities way beyond the utility.

Depth of Perception

2011-07-02T03:25:00.000-07:00

Walking the woods and trails will always give a fine sight of nature and its beauty. Looking to a distant vista, colours and composition of landscape sit before the eyes and in our mind we are the artist or photographer capturing the image to our living memories. Before you walk away from such a sight I would like to encourage you to stay a while longer and look more deeply.

Our perception is often linked to the moment, to look beyond the moment into the past or the possible futures opens the mind to a greater picture. To see the trees in a younger state struggling their way clear of the undergrowth, the ruins or marks on the landscape once part of a way of life and now just a hint at the toils of another human through the mists of time.

The colours of the earth and the flora will give the clues needed to establish the qualities of land beneath your feet, from clay to stone to fertile earth. The pools and weirs of the streams and rivers define the energy of gravity and rainfall, the type and size of fish and their likely food source from the smallest of plants by the waterside. The water should also be a window on the bed beneath. Hills and mountains demonstrate the greater movements of plates, glaciers and the effect of earth upon water and air. To see a torrential downpour channelled to a stream or the fine mists forming in the low lands as the earth releases its moisture to the air. To see light and shadow change as the turning of the earth alters the suns rays and reflected moonlight on the scene before the senses.

Looking beyond the moment is not easy, the mind can sometimes find distractions to disturb the thoughts and send us into a world of dreaming. But on occasion it will be a scent, a sound or a sight that will give us signals of what lies beyond.

Perhaps it is the way we are taught to think that limits our perceptions, teaching aspects of life in neatly contained categories to allow for easy assessment. But to step outside of these limits and look at the world in an interconnected way passing beyond a subject or a moment into a journey and purpose can be liberating. To draw our full attention to a task in the moment is a fine and most rewarding thing, it can clear stagnant thoughts from the mind but to take that clear mind and give it the ability to change mindset and perceptions to the wider picture takes us beyond that point in the moment to the realms beyond.

Seekers of the Light

2011-06-28T03:48:00.000-07:00

With the still, heavy heat of the summer evening clinging to my skin I found myself shifting uneasily and dragging my clothing an inch or two away from my body to allow a little fresh air to pass for a brief while. At least there was a slight breeze in the darkness to ease the discomfort and remind me of the cycles and greater movements of the elements around me.

Standing on the back step of my hovel I glanced up into the sky, a few clouds remained motionless across the scattering of stars far beyond. To the horizon was the last visible arc of light on the moon sitting above the haze of light from a city several miles away. I turned to glance through the window back into the hovel and was stunned to see the glass alive with the movement of several dozen moths of all shapes and sizes, all drawn to the dim light inside.

The faintest flutter on the air announced the arrival of more moths as they to headed towards the unattainable light and found themselves pressed against the glass. Gently I removed one of the moths from the window to study the shimmering markings on delicate wings. As the little creature tired of being the subject of my attention it took to the air and immediately headed back towards the light. From the edges of the window spiders emerged to sit among the moths and try to claim a meal from the rich bounty surrounding them. The smaller spiders were jostled by the wings and movement, the largest remained still and patient, the size of the spider was testament to the success of the tactic.

Strange how one small light can attract such attention from the darkness and how others to respond to the flock of powered wings beating against the window. It would appear that many who head for the light are taken to sustain others. My thoughts were interrupted by the flash of distant lightening and its promise of cooler fresher air to come and I turned to watch to night sky again before stepping back into the hovel and turning out the light.

The Lantern Bearers

2011-06-18T02:50:00.000-07:00

There are many times in my life I have looked into the darkness of the night landscape watching for the return of the lantern bearer. That lone light appearing in the gloom to let me know a person who brings light into my life is returning safely to the home fires. As the years have passed I became aware that the mantle of the lantern bearer has passed to me and it is one I cherish.

From my perspective I can literally be the bearer of the light returning from my wanders, but for others in this day and age it could be the headlights of the car or the bike to cast a welcoming glow and announce the arrival of the traveling soul.

I still look for those lights, and will never stop doing so. As my life journey continues I have found many other lantern bearers, those fine people who strive to make a difference, to search for empathy and understanding. To read the tales of those looking to become self sufficient, who have learned to question aspects of life that are unjust and are simply doing things their own way without compromise is inspiring. From writing, crafting and art through to living a harmonious life, such souls are truly inspiring.

In many ways I have been lucky to have those lantern bearers visit here, to read or leave a helpful comment or compliment. This blog post is something of a milestone for the Quiet of Night, it is the 100th post and for those who have taken the time to visit and comment you have my thanks.

Every question we ask is a spark to light the lantern and every piece of understanding we gain is a flicker to the flame. Perhaps as other learn to look deeper at their lives they will look to the horizon and see the approaching lights of thousands of enlightened souls.

The Gift of Rainfall

2011-06-14T04:49:00.000-07:00

Orange and violet hues from the setting sun cast their light through the western fringe of the woodland. Above the trees heavy clouds shrouded the evening sky and I had only a moment to wait before the pattering of rain began on the canopy above me. With the sinking sun laying between the horizon and the spreading darkness of the edge of the rain clouds I was given a perfect view of the world between the elements of fire and water.

As the rain cascaded off the canopy and down to the woodland floor the drops caught the light and blazed like jewels for the briefest of moments. Looking around me the bark of the conifers glowed with warmth and a stunning green light emerged through the young leaves of the woodland shrubs.

The gentle rain seemed to wash away the stresses of the day, as it had done many times before. As I watched the scene before me I put my hand into my pocket and passed the few coins held there through my fingers. I had to smile, the coins I had would barely buy a coffee at a cheap cafe in town, but there they had no meaning at all. As the light faded and the rain increased the colours changed to delicate muted tones, but I was none the poorer for the passing of the light. The soothing sounds of the rain on the leaves together with the aromas stirred by the movement filled the air. I felt the softness in the ground beneath me as I continued my wanders on the boundary of the woodland and the fields.

The jeweled light of the living energy of the sun with the scents stirred in the twilight of the woodland are the most modest of the gifts of rainfall to some, but to others they are treasure beyond compare. As with many things, it depends on where you stand and the perspective you take.

Solitary Oak in the Storm

2011-06-10T11:34:00.000-07:00

As the landscape flattens towards the river a solitary oak stands among the grasses of a fallow field. The eye is drawn to the distant flickering movement of the brown hares, the wide open ground combined with their speed allows them to display a bolder side to their nature.

Above the oak the sky begins to slowly tumble with dark clouds and the air lays heavy with charge. As spring turns to summer there are often impressive storms, the low lands provide a spectacular stage to watch the lightening strikes against the horizon and turmoil of the clouds.

My eyes again rest upon the form of the oak, within the nearby woodlands I have often seen these trees bearing the scars of lightening strikes. It seems the shelter of the neighbouring trees on occasion will do little to stop the blinding white light from seeking out the oaks, but the solitary tree seems to show no obvious signs of damage. It has clearly held its ground for many years against the onslaught of the elements. Perhaps the virtues of fortune and good roots has allowed it to remain strong, while those among the crowds of trees have not always done so well.

As the skies darken my mind turns, the strength to stand alone is something quite special in nature. It is something only a few beings seem to be capable of, but with a little good fortune and strong roots it would appear it is possible, even against the difficulties and turbulence that surrounds our lives.

The Healing Path

2011-06-07T02:58:00.000-07:00

A few drops of early summer rain began to take the heat from my hands, it had been a long day of hard work with the sun and the physical effort tarnishing the skin. Muscles were tense and seemed to lock into solid forms around the bones. The rain, gentle breeze and the soft twilight with its crescent moon washed over me bringing relief and movement in waves. I realised many years ago that the human body is at its best when moving. Step by step following time with the beating heart, blood flowing with a steady heart rate and each step naturally pushing the energy of life around the organs, the limbs and to the extremities of the feet and finger tips where the nerves seem to hold sway among the skin.

Together with the elements of the woodland and the subtle reflected light in the crescent moon each relaxed step along the trail brings a reassuring healing energy to soothe the body and draw calmness and connection to the mind. The natural moving state of the body along the trail forms a bridge between the forced working energies of the day and the restful deep sleep where the tumbling sub-conscious holds dreams before the minds eye. Within the natural state is both healing and the rationalisation of our waking experiences.

Surrounded by and filled with the pulsing energies of life the trails carry me deep into the woods where the colours of the night sky and the rain drops on the gentle breeze bring a rejuvenation to the mind, the body and the spirit.

Mimicry of Adulthood

2011-06-03T02:51:00.000-07:00

Late afternoon sun warmed the sandstone of the medieval buildings and threw shadows across the paved streets. The last of the weekend crowds heaved along the streets, changing direction and purpose with the thoughts and priorities of the individuals among them. I allowed the hill to carry my steps towards the retail centre of the city and away from the aged charms of the old urban heart. It seemed as if I had unwittingly followed the crowds or perhaps it was the reflection of the sheet glass windows to the designer shops that gave an amplification of the noise and movement of the passers by.

I stopped for a while by a quiet shady corner to watch the comings and goings of people, from the laden shopper to the retail worker chattering loudly on their mobile phone. History has shown us repeatedly how civilisation too will ebb and flow, I find myself wondering how long scenes like this will be as the last of the fossil fuel resources are wrung from the earth. The thought of sitting in the traffic to leave the city while forced to enjoy the aroma of the exhaust fumes from the vehicle in front was not one that thrilled me. Until the passing of the crowds it seemed that a coffee shop could provide sanctuary needed to prevent a fraying temper, once I found my good lady among the crowds I found my suggestion was well received.

Moments later we found ourselves seated behind the smudges and smeared windows of a cheap franchise restaurant with the warmth of a brew passing through the paper cups into our palms. As before my attention was drawn to the crowds, a gaggle of young teenagers burst through the doors and took to the seats a few tables away. All seemed to wear the latest in high street fashion and were well groomed in reflection of the celebrities that no doubt took the place of role models within their minds. The dynamics were immediately obvious, the tallest of the lads placed his foot on the centre of the table forcing the others to move their food, he talked loudly commanding the attention of the others and continually gestured and touched the gold chain and rings he wore as if reinforcing his status. The younger lads paid attention to him but also lavished the regard of welcome distraction upon the expensive mobiles and smart phones they drew from their pockets.

One of the girls sitting closely by the tall lad obviously had favour with him. She was able to be bolder with her language and tone, and used him to help reinforce her remarks to the others. The other girls stood around the edges of the tables choosing moments to join the conversation and support the opinions of the two dominant figures. One girl had clearly dressed to impress, but her constant preening and awkwardness portrayed her self consciousness, this was also perhaps the reason the group largely ignored her.

We chatted with our observations, my partner was all too aware of the group and the goings on between them. We both had memories from our youth of the way similar groups formed during our teenage years and of how the same mechanics carried on into college years and corporate life. It seems that the mimicry of adulthood going on before us would be carried on by these youngsters into their later lives. As we finished our drinks and prepared to leave I also remarked on how things were different within this city from the place we grew up. The designer gear, jewelry and mobiles they so proudly displayed and used would have marked you as a target for mugging within the rough northern town we used to call home, but despite this the language and behaviour was remarkably similar despite the years. Schools and curriculums may change as times go by but the way humans seem to unquestioningly organise themselves, seems to remain unaltered.

For me it appears the observations of the late afternoon would remain as thoughts to be carried with me on the solitude of my night time wanders.

A Sense of Arrival

2011-05-28T02:13:00.000-07:00

Glancing over the advertising in the newspapers and through the windows of the local travel agents the mind is flooded with offers and bargains. Exotic locations for cut prices, last minute special deals or once in a lifetime offers. By road, rail or air we can cocoon ourselves in sleek metal vehicles to carry us at high speed to those special places. You can go anywhere for the right price and be whisked away like royalty or shoe horned into budget class for a few uncomfortable hours.

I have often wondered if some of the people of this island have lost the meaning of travel and journeys. The miles we travel are eclipsed by the perceived destination, and monuments and countries become a check list of must see places. To travel by your own means and power can change your perspective of the world. A geographical destination becomes a pleasing stopping point towards the end of a valuable journey and is part of the new sights and experiences gained along the way. But for me it is the journey that helps to tune us into our surroundings and offers insights as to the evolution of land, history, geography, biology and botany. It draws together as a whole spirit and speaks to the soul as a wanderer passes by. I have found my destination is not the monument or the grand vista from high on a hill side. It is those moments when you rest. Memories and experiences flood back to you as you sit by a fire or unwind to ease the aching limbs earned during the miles. The destination is the assembly of experiences, sights and emotions as mind and body finds rest, and the spirit draws it together as a whole.

Travel well and enjoy the peace before the wanderers sleep. With the healing of body and mind, the tracks of your next journey can carry the spirit to new highs. Perhaps we will meet on the trail and share a tale or two which will go far deeper than the holiday snap shot.

The Chittering Tree

2011-05-24T03:14:00.000-07:00

The setting sun bathed the raised track before me with a warm light. Like many of the tracks through the clearings it had been formed by the passing of walkers taking best advantage of the lighter undergrowth. Beside this narrow green way the ground had sunken deeply and the light undergrowth covered deep ruts caused by arboricultural machinery from the past years harvesting of the trees. Where the ruts drew closer to the track it became extremely narrow forcing my foot falls into line to prevent turning an ankle by a misplaced step.

As I walked this natural tightrope I became aware of short sharp calls from the trees at the edge of the clearing. I cast my gaze into the dappled and lengthening shadows of the tree line to see a small shape flitting among the branches. The call was reminiscent of little owl calls I had heard in the past, I decided to push through the undergrowth of the clearing to investigate, careful to check the positioning of my steps as the ground was well suited habitat for the adders which on rare occasions grace these parts.

Closing on the tree line I approached a single standing dead wood. Continual chittering calls echoed loudly around the trees. The calls were relentless and quite hypnotic with their regularity and persistence, only the occasional call from the wandering bird broke through their repetition. With the last of the sun on my back I stopped for a few moments to try and find the cause of the cacophony. Close to the top of the deadwood I could see well chiseled holes on the bare wood of the tree. With a flurry of movement a bird appeared from the surrounding branches and closed on the deadwood. It appears the woodpeckers have created a nest overlooking the clearing and the noisy demands of the chicks would be keeping the parents busy while they remained.

I turned and left the young family to their evening as the sun set behind the horizon. I soon found myself back on the narrow trail and followed it along the western tree line of the clearing. In the twilight I looked into the silence and gloom of the wood to see another standing deadwood. Perched on the top was the sight of a tawny owl, motionless for a moment holding me in a gaze of quiet regard. In an instant the bird turned and glided silently into the woodland. The deadwood stood silent as if the tawny had never been there.

With a smile betraying the enriched moments and experiences I had just added to my life I continued, following the trail until I also turned and vanished into the darker woods.

Embrace of the Oak

2011-05-17T16:05:00.000-07:00

Another stumble along the trail began to reveal the effects of long work hours. As I walked I could recognise the signs of fatigue creeping over me. From an occasional missed footing to the jumble of thoughts within my head turning relentlessly and refusing to stay still as I try to piece them into a coherent order.

I lifted my hand to relieve the discomfort in my shoulders, a sensation of heaviness seemed to run from my aching shoulders down though my arm like a stream and pooled in my fingertips. I allowed gravity to carry my hand back to my side and looked around. My vision seemed to be following behind the movements of my eyes and head as I glanced around the clearing leaving me checking my balance and breathing deeply to recover what oxygen I could to tired muscles.

A head of me I could see the shape of an old oak tree set a short distance from the track, its roots spread among a blanket of rough grass. I drew breath and made my way over to seek rest for a while within the trails of the roots. Easing myself down to the floor I was relieved to find the grass dry and the earth warm, I leaned back against the trunk and closed my eyes for a moment. It was as if time itself had slowed or I had gained a synthesis with the long slow years of the tree. The wind drifted by carrying the clouds across the late evening skyline and the gentle rustle of leaves ushered them away to to horizon. Each blink seemed to take an eternity until I was aware of reaching a shallow sleep and the passing of time seemed to stop for a moment.

I opened my eyes to the gentle pattering of light rain on the oak leaves. I did not care to try and guess if my sleep had been moments, minutes or longer, but I remained warm and comfortable on the lea side of the trunk to the passing breeze. My dogs had stayed as sentinels by my side during my rest but their eager eyes displayed their desire to continue. Feeling my burden lifted by my rest I climbed back to my feet and stretched. Our journey would carry us a few more miles yet, but to enjoy such a rest by a fine oak would make my steps lighter and my mind sharper to enjoy the pathways to come.

Colours by the Lantern

2011-05-15T03:33:00.000-07:00

With the growing fullness of the moon there seems to be little reason for the lantern on my wanders. To be honest there are times when it is left at home when I am treading familiar paths well away from roads and people. However there is a fine quality and perspective to be gained with the wandering light.

Drifting gently above the pathways the pool of illuminance floats along side me adding intensity and warmth to the surrounding moonlight. With the light swaying gently as I step carefully to adjust to the undulations and ruts, the shadows of the undergrowth ebb and flow of the lamp movement. Among the undergrowth the blooms of spring burst into colour and fade to shadow with our passing movement. Such a sight serves as a reminder of the seasons within the realm of night.

The moments also serve as reminders to passing time in life, people I have met, sights I have seen and the enjoyment of dwelling for a while in a special place. To catch a glimpse of an aspect of life at its peak fills the soul for a moment with an enlightenment which can be carried along the path to last well beyond the moment itself. It is not just the memory of such moments that is important, but also the sensation of enlightenment. To recall the sensation brings a method of returning back to the essence of being alive and a welcome rest and nourishment for a weary mind.

Turning Time - From Seed to the Mortar

2011-05-10T15:45:00.000-07:00

Shielded by canvas from the late afternoon sun the wood turner worked. The pole of the lathe nodding to the beat of his steps and the steady rasp of steel on wood paused only for a fraction as the pole changed direction. Wood shavings scattered to the ground sheet as he worked and the slight breeze shifted those that fell to the rustic work bench. Compared to the rattle of industrial process this was subtle and skillful. The tools themselves looked as though they had been made from scratch or modified to suit his needs.

I cast my eye from the unworked wood to the final products sitting close by. I had little doubt that the wood had been sourced locally, the bowls, cups and a mortar had a glorious rustic charm and presence. My mind turned to the prospect of similar products in stores only a few miles away. Perfectly rounded, all identical in brightly coloured glaze or plastic. Formed, fueled and shipped by gas and oil. Here within reach was an object grown, felled, crafted and presented within a few miles from source to finish. I turned out my pocket to see if I could offer the crafter a good price, sadly the few coins I had on me would have left the crafter short changed for the worth of his work, but they may have bought me an imported product if I so desired. Perhaps next time I will be able to make an offer to suit my conscience.

The Knowledge of the Peasant

2011-05-07T03:32:00.000-07:00

Towering columns of stone, high crafted ceiling and shafts of light from high windows greet the traveller with a jaw dropping effect. Many times I have looked upon the design and skill of the medieval architect and craftsman, the ancient materials are indeed pushed to the limits of height and span by the knowledge and experience of a skilled few. But for all of its splendour I have the feeling I have seen it before but on a much grander scale, both in terms of size and time.

A line of tall pines with intertwining branches forms a living colonnade to the woodland track, with the new moon the stars glimmer through the canopy, with the full moon the shadows deepen beyond the trees and the trail is bathed in silver light. To reach a clearing the last of the trees forms a spectacular vista with the night sky drawing the eyes from the landscape to the heavens.

The changing seasons, the elements and the passing of time herald constant changes breathing new life and experience. For me this truth & beauty, the combination of living energy and elemental forces. Much as I admire the skills of the ancient builder and architect, their work seems quaint against such energies. To see such sights you need only to walk freely with nature and the knowledge of the peasant.

The Flow of Time

2011-05-04T02:43:00.000-07:00

An aspect of life I find fascinating is the quality of time. During a regular working week it seems that time is a pressure of schedules & deadlines, but during my wanders it seems time begins to ebb and flow like a river. I learned many years ago to manage without a watch. The constant glances at my wrist to determine the order of tasks had become an unconscious annoyance, I realised that the watch was becoming a shackle to my working day and set limits and constraints to my wanders.

With the shackle removed I felt freer and after a while I began to take more time to sit, think and observe. When things caught my attention I could stay a while and learn. I noticed the pale band around my wrist where the watch used to be had returned to what it should be.

When I wander during more social hours it becomes interesting to see the actions of others who I share the trails with. Some seem to force their way focusing on the immediate steps ahead, others act like flustered shepherds driving children though leisure time to their next appointment, but some seem to be of my mindset. From the walker who stops for a while to drink in the sights to the parent who stands with their child sharing the curiosity of seeing a creature or plant for the first time.

Perhaps next time you look at the designer watch, it will not be so appealing. For all its beauty, precision parts and expensive components, it can hurry you through life and possibly strip you of experiences you could only get to see and share once.

Master of the May Wood

2011-05-02T05:42:00.000-07:00

Questioning looks from sullen faces seemed to be the sight greeting me as I arrived at a familiar wood. With the setting sun all of the days walkers were climbing back into their cars for their journey back to the suburbs. Perhaps they had not enjoyed their day or were saddened at the thought of a return to civilisation, but the glum expressions held my eye and tried to influence my mind. As is often the case, I was heading the opposite way. Heads turned with questioning expressions to watch me pass the steel gates placed to prevent vehicles entering the wood and with every step I felt my enjoyment growing.

Once off the wider paths I found myself among the worn earth tracks weaving their way among saplings with the background and canopy of the taller pine trees throwing shadow and depth to the scene of the setting sun. I ducked and leaned around the overhanging branches as I wandered, beneath me I could feel the protruding root structure of the trees on the track reminding me to tread gently to save an unscheduled trip into the brambles.

My lead dog took position on the track ahead, her brown coat standing proud against the deepening greens of the wood. From beside her another brown shaped moved from the undergrowth and took to the air. The silent wing beats carried the tawny owl gracefully down the winding path. I watching in admiration how the wing tips were turned effortlessly to avoid touching the branches I would soon be twisting to avoid. After a short flight the tawny landed back among the low trees and vanished in perfect stillness. We followed down the path and again the tawny took to flight leading the way until we reached a clearing in the low cover. With arcing grace the bird lifted to the higher canopy and vanished among the upper branches of the tall pines.

Whatever had left the travelers of the day with their sunken expressions had perhaps vanished with the setting sun. For me the master of the may wood had shown me elegance and beauty along the most narrow and twisting of paths, as I make my own travels I will try to allow the influence of such qualities into my mind.

Embers by the Bow

2011-04-29T02:27:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I found myself among the crowds at a Saint George's day parade in an english country village. Above me red and white flags draped the sides of 18th and 19th century vernacular architecture and spanned the streets setting their colours against a clear blue sky. The chattering of the crowd was overcome by amplified announcements and wandering folk musicians would occasionally make themselves heard as they weaved their way through the throng. The aroma of frying meat drifted on the air where it mingled with the scent of sweet donuts and pungent smell of alcohol from the pub and beer garden.

Despite the jovial atmosphere I remained a little awkward. I have never been fond of the notion of nationality, it has always felt like a mandatory club you are instantly a member of and are expected to conform unquestioningly to its requirements. I stopped for a while to watch a local theatre group telling the tale of Saint George and listened to a few words from the village church leader before drifting away to stand by the small stream trickling its way through the heart of the village.

By the stream I found a most welcome sight. Traditional wood crafters were using pole lathes, turning bowls and wares. A few children were encouraged to try their hand as they showed interest. Sitting quietly under a tree was a bush crafter carefully working and shaping the elements of a fire starting bow. Once he was happy with his preparations he set about assembling the bow and the process of creating the hot embers. He had no need to herald the attentions of the people near by, they were drawn as moths to the prospect of the flame. After smoothly working the bow for a short while the tell tale signs of smoke began to appear and his demonstration concluded with the glow of the embers suitable for starting a fire should he wish it.

For me the noise of the crowd, the lure of entertainment and ancient words from across the stream faded away. I sat for a while and waited for my good lady and my friend to join me away from the people. With the sound of the running water, the scent of smoke, the warm earth beneath me and young leaves set against a clear blue sky I feel I have found the true heart of the land. For me it dwells within the structure of the landscape itself and with those who understand and can harmonise with it, the colour of the flag are pale by comparison.

Haunting of a Young Mind

2011-04-27T08:49:00.000-07:00

Stopping for a while I gazed upon the twisting forms of the trees above and head of me. Shifting in the breath of a warm twilight the woodland seemed to pulsing with life and energy. Among the darkening trunks and branches were shapes reminiscent of twisted limbs and features animated by the movement, among the element of wood these forms are natural and quite spectacular, but to hold them within the context of human anatomy would twist the mind to a realm of horror.

As I looked around I could recall the tales of childhood and the dark, lonely pictures painted by the imagination. As a young mind seeks out excitement and adventure it is a shame to be instilled with a controlling fear. I am never sure if the fear gives way to realization or if develops into phobia and superstition as the mind grows, much depends on the individual and circumstances of their life. I sometimes wonder how those who catch a glimpse of a figure passing by in the darkness and of their regard. Perhaps suspicion or curiosity. There are many ways to perceive the world but I have always preferred wonder and awareness.

The Heart of the Silent Wood

2011-04-23T03:00:00.000-07:00

As the days lengthen and the warmth of the sun rejuvenates the plants and animals, I have often noticed a less enjoyable side to human behaviour within the spring season. It is in some ways hard to describe but in essence it feels like being pushed or jostled. It is perhaps in due to the greater quantity of people being enticed out by the warmer weather that I notice just how many human beings their are and how crowded this island has become.

Once the sun has set and the land begins to cool, I find I am alone again in the folds of the night, and after a day in the presence of society it is a welcome relief. As the cooling air surrounds me I can feel the tension leaving my body, shoulders lower and the neck begins to regain greater movement. The glow of moonlight soothes the eyes as they adjust from the harsh light and focus of the day to the peripheral vision and relaxed gaze needed to hold the sights of twilight. As my vision adjusts, so does my mind set, the details and intricacies of the day give way to the more perceptive and creative mind.

With barely a ripple of wind in the trees I cast my eyes up towards the moon glowing brightly through the tree canopy. While the sun seems to be the heart of the seasons, the moon it seems is the heart of the silent wood. The wax and wain of its cycles holds sway over the hunting creatures of the wood, and even over the people who tentatively conduct their activities in the car parks at the wood edge. The full moon always heralds more activity and the new moon makes for a stiller mood.

It would seem we are as moths, creatures drawn to the light. The stronger and warmer the light, the more are attracted and the jostling will begin again. I find I have no desire for the competitive world of the spring and summer rush, the slow and quiet beat of the moon will remain the light and pulse I find most comfortable.

A Cascade of Moonlit Blossom

2011-04-19T15:49:00.000-07:00

The reflected light of the full moon lay across the clearing, the bounding wood set a distance away gave the impression of an impenetrable blackness walling in the shrubs and grassland. My mind was at ease with the surrounding wall of darkness, the trails are well known to me and I am aware that once in the trees the woodland floor and tracks would be well lit once the eyes adjust.

I trod the uneven earth as I made my way towards the edge of the clearing, passing small clusters of trees and hedges. It was then I saw something new to me, several trees wore a cloak of white blossom. In the moonlight the blooms shone as if the trees had caught a cascading cloud among their branches. No doubt these would be pleasant in the light of day where they would stand side by side with pink blossom and the new leaves, but in the full moonlight they were unequaled in their impact.

Standing beneath the trees I cast my eyes upward. The clear night and the void beyond teased the warmth from my face but my fingertips could still sense the warmth of the earth beneath me. It appears the theatre of the night has treated me to another splendid display. Such moments should be seized by the senses, cherished by the memory and fuel the inspiration. It is a regret that such things are brief, the blossom will be gone by the next full moon, but I have been fortunate to stand in such a place and such a light, for a while at least.

The Qualities of Leadership (Part 1)

2011-04-14T03:33:00.000-07:00

Many years ago I was treated to a few words of wisdom from an old boss, after I gave a series of bumbling and awkward replies to his questions he said "always appear confident, even when you are not confident, it will help inspire confidence in others and you will be able to lead them".

Perhaps I should have been flattered that he was willing to start teaching me his techniques, however I found myself viewing his comments from another perspective. How much of leadership is based on experience and knowledge? How much of leadership is based on the ability to deceive and manipulate?

It becomes fascinating to watch the act of influence from business leaders, politicians and anyone else who would try and stir a crowd. Within my mind I turn down the sounds of their words and watch their gestures and body language. In many ways I find their words have only one meaning "this is how it should be" however the content or the subject is being portrayed. I find animals have evolved this skill much more efficiently then humans. They do not need the coded words or debate. A look or simple noise will suffice, it is curious to see how many leaders can adopt something of that "look". Those that submit to that leadership will of course adopt the nodding, upward looking gaze of compliance.

As we move forward into more turbulent times, I find myself scrutinising the various public figures and personalities who seek to gain favour, influence and power. I try to strip away the layers of the act of leadership to stare into the core of the being. Once inside truths are revealed. Maybe next time you find yourself holding an upward stare and nodding, you will find the curiosity to peel away the layers and look within.

Sun to the Spring Evening

2011-04-08T05:18:00.000-07:00

Stepping through the tracks and into the clearing on a spring evening I find I am able to sense new life and warmth from the woodlands. As the clear blue sky gives way to night the ground resonates with heat and new scents are lifted from the buds and leaves. The calling of the birds hold longer into the darkness and the undergrowth is disturbed by the foraging of small animals. Insects are lifted into the night sky by the rising heat of the earth and the flitting shapes of pipistrel bats claim their first meal of the night.

On such nights the twilight world holds an uplifting energy and slows my steps as if encouraging me to drink deeply of its vitality. The crescent of the moon adds it gentle light to the failing light of the sun and among the trees the calling of the tawny owls begin. Quietly I tread off the track and into the trees following the call. Above me I soon find the shifting shape of the tawny perched high in the branches. Aware of my presence I can see the shape turn to look at me before returning to call into the night unconcerned by the silent and still land roaming creature below.

Once again time melts by and the moments gently roll on in time with the nature. Easing the mind and lifting the spirit.

Noise

2011-04-06T16:54:00.000-07:00

Sometimes shouting & the desire to attract attention reaches a peak, from all around there are people wanting, demanding and imposing. The noise become infernal and wearing. There is so much that can be tolerated and so much that asks politely but repeatedly until it screams like an unreasonable demand in the mind. Today I decided to step away from it. No real grand gesture or martyr like shriek of defiance. There would be no point in that. Just time to step into the quiet evening and the failing light of day.

The trees to the side of me carried the dead leaves of winter and I found myself listening to them rustling gently in the wind and felt the last warmth of the sun on my skin. Tonight I walked and watched the bats skimming the edges of the trees, dipping below the horizon to hide their flight against the undergrowth and earth.

As I walked the stresses of the day began to peal way. I looked upon the deepening blue of the sky with the outlines of the trees etched in shadow against the slim crescent moon and its faint glow. The gentle warm breeze was as a vital breath of fresh air breathing life and clarity into my ears and mind, among the breath of the land I found comfort along with the resolve to make a few changes. For me it is time to focus and bring to bear skills I have worked on over the years. I have things to do and will need a clear mind to achieve what is best. For those on social websites who may wonder at the vanishing of an owl you have my apologies for a departure without ceremony. As always I will wish any reader here well and I hope you avoid such turbulence.

It is easy to fill the mind with clutter or empty it with the wash of distractions, but for me, to ensure the mind is clear and ready for tasks in hand is not so easy and needs preparation.

Lessons From Small Creatures

2011-04-03T17:09:00.000-07:00

With the lights of the village glowing in the distance I wandered through the darkened lanes, clouds slowly passed overhead lit only by the light from the towns and cities in the distance as they were pushed along by the very gentlest breeze. From the distance came the familiar rattle of a petrol engine and light appeared down the road. Instinctively I reached for the lantern and turned it on to alert the driver to my presence and save them from the awkwardness of running into me in the darkness, the driver responded with the usual courtesy of putting their headlights on full beam. I stepped off the road and waited for them to pass and stood still in the darkness while I allowed my night vision to recover.

Muttering a soft curse under my breath I continued once my retina had ceased to burn and made my way into the village under the dead light of the sodium street lights. As I approached the late night store the silence was shattered by the sound of a young lad starting the engine on his car. The noise was almost unbearable in the silence of the night. The engine was certainly not powerful and the layer of filth that covered the small car and its registration plates betrayed the lack of care of its owner. It was the lack of any type of exhaust that gave rise to the cacophony, no doubt the vehicle's original exhaust had long since corroded away and the current owner had either not troubled themselves to replace it or had decided that the vehicle sounded better without it. The vehicle roared off into the distance, shaking windows and barely troubling the speed limit of the village. Again my muttered curses were carried away on the gentle breeze.

As peace returned I cast my eyes up the road. From a side street the unmistakable form of a fox cast a wary glance up and down the road before elegantly trotting across the street to the quiet lanes on the opposite side of the road. A smile returned to my face as I watched my fellow night walker carefully make his way into the safety of the small lanes and the enveloping darkness. I carried on walking silent steps, distant enough to avoid startling the splendid creature. After a short while I turned into a smaller road, the showers of the evening still stood in puddles along the kerb side like darkened mirrors holding the intensity of the night sky. One puddle seemed to move and shimmer in contrast to its neighbours. For a while I watched, the ripples were as invisible footsteps carefully padding around the water. For a moment they ceased and a shape emerged onto the footpath. A hedgehog trotted its way into the undergrowth, the puddle had provided the creature with a suitable bath and the undergrowth was both a bed and a larder. The smile remained on my face as I walked away from the village and back to my hovel in the darkened lanes.

Once again, life within the darkness had shown me many things. The activities of people had left me deaf and blind as people had made their inconsiderate & self obsessed way in the night, the smaller creatures had shown me how to adapt to the surroundings and take advantage of what they have.

The Immortality of the Academic

2011-04-02T06:01:00.000-07:00

Today marks the passing of another year of my life and I have had a peaceful morning to organise and put things into perspective. As the years have gone, I have noticed the effects upon me and the slowing down of the body and the steadying of the mind. In many ways I have also seen how to effectively live past the limited years of the human creature. Some time ago I began to see my own existence as an interconnection with time, space and the living energies of the moment. I decided to draw, write and pass on my skills and knowledge to those who I thought could make use of them effectively. I have always been wary of the self appointed masters and gurus who teach secrets for money, so where I can my experiences are passed on freely.

Where the academic would seal their works in words, I have found it provides only a coded existence of what I can pass on. By explanation, teaching and leading by example it seems I have been able to communicate more effectively and also have been able to improve and further myself as other like minded folk have opened up and shared their thoughts.

The transition of a skill from one person to another is a magnificent thing. The skill has an energy and life of its own, as it passes to another it evolves. With care and guidance it becomes stronger. No doubt I will return to writings soon enough to document what I can, but I will always look to pass on skills first hand wherever I can. To be a part of life and energy beyond our immediate circumstances is a fine reward.

My thanks to Craig & Dan, for inspiration over the years.

The Forgotten Swordsman

2011-03-26T05:11:00.000-07:00

Many years ago I began to take an interest in swords and swordsmanship. In these younger years I enjoyed the myths, legends and tales that surrounded them but as time passed I started to learn far more than I expected. My interest in the sports and films surrounding them began to wain and instead I began to see their evolution, place in history and the wider parallels to human nature as far more interesting.

Each style of blade was like a tool reflecting the point in history, geography, skill with metallurgy and the social/psycological effects of the age. The understanding of tools is a subtle and revealing art, every curve & pattern reflects so much. From the skill and understanding of the maker to the size, ability and location of the user. It is easy to loose sight of the simple things, but it is these that educate and inform us, opening the mind to such perceptions can reveal truths way beyond that of an object.

We seem to live in an age where brands and labels hold sway. The signature and reputation of the craftsman has given way to the blanket corporate label with its promises and assumptions of status and taste. The skill of the users is measured in sports and celebrity. Perhaps by my drive to seek understanding I have consigned myself to the sidelines of mainstream society, but it is through understanding that I find my rewards.

The Moonlit March Hare

2011-03-20T04:19:00.000-07:00

Its never a good start to the day to receive an e-mail clearly composed to cause problems. Glancing through the twisted words and pointed accusations it was clear that the author was playing games and attempting to bolster his status with those above him in the organisation. I couldn't help but notice the addresses of "superiors" copied in to the e-mail. Initially my annoyance grew and I began to compose a response within my mind before a realisation struck me. The e-mail was founded on incorrect facts & assumptions. I looked his demands for information and after due consideration pressed the delete key before getting on with tasks I needed to undertake for the day.

However, despite my action, such words tend to stay with you during the day and wriggle their way back into the front of the mind. As the sun began to set I decided to take a break and walk the issues away. The sunset was beautiful, deep reds and oranges lit the horizon and the earth still retained its warmth from a clear spring day. Above me in the deepening blue hung the full moon. As I stood taking in the scene the silent white shape of a Barn Owl glided by. The Owl seemed utterly unconcerned by me and passed by me some fifteen to twenty feet away. It was close enough for me to see the sandy markings on the back and wings, and also close enough for the soft feathers to reveal the silence of the wing strokes. Looking to the grasslands I watched the bird across the fields, my eyes were then taken to the shapes on the floor. Boxing and chasing the Brown Hares were at their courtship. The furrows that hid them from view were left well behind as they took to their spring rituals.

With a spring sunset and a full moon my mind was eased. Here there are simple truths and wonderful sights to behold. I lost track of how long I drank in the scene, time seems to be of little matter when the mind and senses are full of what is truly important.

Long Knives

2011-03-15T02:35:00.000-07:00

The solitude of a woodland trail has often provided me with the time and space I need to help put things into perspective. Many times I have looked at what is important to me and weighed it up against the demands of others. Within my work I have often seen the politics of the office playing like a macabre theatre, the games played by workers and managers as they further their own careers, jockeying for position or battling to survive.

As I have perhaps explained before within this blog, it is the focus and drive to produced a well crafted design that drives me. I enjoy such simplicity and have changed my life to try to keep myself within such realms. However I am always aware of the games and backdrops that surround me. I also see how they reflect into the wider world into the news and politics.

The desire to control people and resources is understandable and is part of our very evolution though history. I find it is important to learn the lessons of those who have been used, betrayed or overtaken just as much as it is to see the lives of those who are perceived to be successful. As is often the case, when you combine the tales and regard with an open mind, the truth will sit in the middle.

It seems that whatever we do there will be the proverbial long knife in the darkness. Perhaps the skill is not being the one who wields it or avoids it, but to be the one who looks through the darkness to see the truth of what it there.

The Flock

2011-02-18T02:49:00.000-08:00

Set against the failing light of an evening sky I have often enjoyed watching the starlings searching for their safe roost. Once a woodland bird they seem to have adapted to the farmlands and urban spaces, but it on the edge of the wood watching the shifting mass of hundreds of birds set against the sunset where they are most special for me.

In many ways these birds remind me of people. They find their security in numbers and the shifting movements of the flock remind me of the ebbs and flows of both the physical movements of people and of the changes of opinions and viewpoints with regard to the whole. It is an incredible sight when the direction of the flock is changed by the actions of a single bird, one observation or shift in movement can turn a neighbouring bird and the effect ripples through the whole flock and the effect is truly spectacular.

It is thanks to the actions and initiations of a few people that it appears our woodlands are safe for now. They have helped move half a million of us to raise our objections to the sell off of the forests by a gentle steer. In particular I would like to pass my thanks on to Hen, Karen & Nick, I will wish you well whenever I see the starlings in flight.

The Haunting of the Mind

2011-02-11T02:17:00.000-08:00

Sitting within the quiet and darkness gives many moments for self reflection. I find I am able to allow my mind to travel back through time and watch memories. Often the scenes I chose to view are uncomfortable and of times where I have been a source of disappointment, ridicule or simply a victim of the actions of another. It may seem strange to do so, but I have often found the hardest learned lessons are the ones I have learned the best. They are also the key to the successes.

For me it seems it is impossible to hide from the experiences of negativity. They will always manifest in one way or another, a harsh reaction, a phobia or a prejudice. To ignore them is to create a specter that follows and draws heavily on the strength of the mind when it is at its weakest. Perhaps this post is uncomfortable to read and may bring back such memories in the quiet moments for a reader, but it is worth bearing in mind that every negative aspect of life that is examined and learned from is a success. Every failing becomes a strength when it is not denied.

Armed with the lessons and scars of a past life and a willingness to confront flaws we can begin to achieve new heights and truly appreciate our efforts. There is much more to success than the simple act of gaining a reward, it is the balance of positive and negative.

The Need for Distraction

2011-02-06T01:00:00.000-08:00

To walk a woodland and take in its scenes is for me a distraction from the business of daily living. At this time of year I enjoy casting an eye upon the emerging snowdrops or seeing the sight of a dog fox on his wanders. For me these "distractions" help to ground me within the cycles of nature and the seasons, they also remind me of scenes that have always been there to tell us of the natural order of things.

For a while this week I turned on an old portable tv to catch up with immediate news beyond the scenes of nature. As is always the case, I found I was saddened by the events of the world, but after the headlines came an annoyance. I found myself watching the sports round up and seeing an aging footballer promoting the importance of football and the people who make the game. I have no objections to people playing games and searching for a release for a while, but many seem to put such games on a pedestal and hold them in what for me is an overly high regard.

I find it hard to understand this elevation of status because of a game. It seems our desire to seek out distractions from life has taken over and have given way to commercialism and nationalism. These games seem to have taken over as an idealistic way of life and reason for being. Many times I have considered setting up a business to make money from those obsessed with sport, it would be easy enough to come up with a product and business model for an eager market. But I have found the idea uncomfortable, a little like taking money from those who can ill afford it and have not been encouraged to challenge the reasons behind an obsession or pre-conception.

I have a deep love for the nature around me and land in which I live, but there are many abstract issues with the people here and their society that I find hard to stomach. When our basic needs are met by the low cost productions of other nations, we drift into obsessions that in reality are of little value but ultimately seem to give control & wealth to a minority. I suppose some would say that these sports and games encourage team building & community, in its better cases it is perhaps so. With open eyes and minds the people who seek benefit and status from such pass times can easily be revealed. But from what I have seen, many do not wish to dwell on the bigger picture.

Past Meetings

2011-01-30T03:41:00.000-08:00

One of the woodland I regularly travel could in some ways be described as unremarkable. It has no historic trees or tales to fill the mind and due to being used for timber harvesting it has an overly high proportion of conifers when compared to a natural english wood. However it is enjoyed by walkers, cyclists, horse riders, photographers, birdwatchers and occasionally bushcrafters.

A few years ago it was considered for development by the Forestry Commission. As you could imagine this was of concern to people living in the nearby villages and on the edges of the wood itself. One local man organised a meeting at a nearby village hall and invited local councilors and asked if a representative from the Forestry Commission would attend.

A few days later I found myself sitting at the back of this meeting listening to the various points and debates being raised and watching the personalities involved to read their unsaid intent. Many of the locals were concerned that the wood would become a "McDonalds" wood, making reference to another Nottinghamshire wood where bikes could be hired, adventure courses had been built and you could park and enjoy all these for a fee. All well and good if you want to take little Johnny and his pals for a fun afternoon, but not so great if you want to enjoy a bit of peace and quiet or if you don't have enough money to pay for the activities or the parking. One of the other residents told us of his issues with anti-social behaviour in the wood, and of him and his son being propositioned one evening by people using the wood for illicit activities. I know such activities do occur in that wood from time to time, but I have walked that wood at night for nearly nine years and found such people have left me well alone. The local councilor was an interesting figure and her tones and delivery easily gained the support of the locals, I am however a cynical type and wondered how much she took from the support and the deeper or even subconscious motives behind her eloquence.

In short, it seemed that despite some issues with people in the wood, local residents seemed happy to have a place to walk and that the wood was a valued space. The Forestry Commission seemed to have been looking for a test piece for small woodland development and found on the whole that the locals were actually quite happy with what they had already. Reading between the lines I had the feeling that the Forestry Commission was under pressure to make more revenue from the woodlands.

The development never took place and aside from some trees being harvested and other replanted the wood is still as it was. It seems that the desire to make money out of our woodland areas is still being driven along with the sale of the issues and problems that currently dwell on public land. After looking at the defra map for the proposed forest sell off, it seems my local wood is marked for sale to small commercial developers. If it was to be sold off, I would assume that the couple of public footpaths that run through the wood would be retained, but the smaller tracks and trails would not have such rights. It is these smaller tracks that most of the woodland users enjoy and are the key to finding the peace and quiet that many seek there.

As the population and its demands grow, we are in danger of turning our countryside into a giant domestic farm. Space and wilderness is needed to keep in touch with nature and put things into perspective. I have no intentions of paying more money to walk safe paths of a commercial adventure walk or see forests turned into nothing more than plantations and crops.

Folds of Earth

2011-01-28T02:44:00.000-08:00

From the Peak District, over the West Pennine Moors up the the Highlands of Scotland, the moorlands have always been a special place for me. Under the moonlight I find them dominated by the elements of air during blustery evenings and the quieter power of earth on still nights.

During such still nights I would seek shelter from the gentlest of breezes and sit in the wind shadow of a dry stone wall, casting my eye upon the landscape. At first glance earth does not have the immediacy of air, fire or moving water. But with the slowest of heartbeats and an understanding of time beyond the moment the powerful movements of the earths floor can be appreciated and the effect on life and the other elements can be seen.

I can understand the ramblers and hikers who tread the land during the day, the colours of the hillside and the distant views are beautiful to behold. But for me the stillness of night and the moonlight give an insight into the power and depth of this element and the dimension of time in which the mind needs to dwell to see what the eyes cannot.

Pools of Dead Light

2011-01-25T01:49:00.000-08:00

As part of my wanderings last night, I strayed into a town not too far from my usual tracks. The stillness and lifelessness was disturbing, aside from an occasional passing car the only noise for quite some time was my own footsteps hollowly reflecting off the walls. Sodium lamps provided an uncomfortable glow of dead pool lighting, passing under these I noticed my skin tones became green giving a corpse like appearance. I looked up to the night sky and there was nothing but dull blackness. With closed doors and curtains drawn tight the residents huddled within the rabble of housing, doubtless the TV was their only window on the world for the evening. Eventually I passed one other soul, a large workman wearing a scruffy high visibility jacket standing in the ferocious white glare of shop lighting. He grunted and grumbled noises into his mobile phone while in his other hand he clutched a polystyrene box stuffed with formless fatty meat, the stench of which was uncomfortable and stomach turning as I passed beneath his gaze.

It was a relief to make my journey up to the woodlands. Once among the trees I could feel the gentle breath of the night air and the rustling of the trees. Even on a dark January night the subtle energies of the wood called, the night sky told tales of distant settlements and a glimpse of the stars through the passing clouds. Here I could feel the energies of the living world and the cycles in which they move.

We are a product of our environment, the more time we spend in that environment the more we take on its characteristics and it permeates what we are and forms what we become.

To Be Left Alone

2011-01-21T17:50:00.000-08:00

There are often occasions during my wandering when I will happen upon something of beauty and substance. For a moment I may turn on the lantern to look upon flora, sometimes I stand quietly in the darkness to watch the shadow form of an owl in the branches above or the fleeting glimpse of a small creature in a hedgerow.

For me it is the moment of such a sight or sound becomes inspiration. In recalling such a moment an artist may portray a magnificent image, a bard may enhance a tale or the actions of an individual may be influenced by the manner of the subject. It is the importance of the moment itself and not the collection of the physical aspects beyond our needs that I hold dear. Sadly it seems those who lack artistry, empathy or appreciation can be focused on the power to possess, accumulation and exclusivity.

In our transient existence it is living the moment while others take that seems so difficult. Where possible I think things are often best left alone and only the learned lessons and inspirations should be carried away to give meaning to the future.

The Perception of Colour is the Value of Light.

2011-01-19T04:27:00.000-08:00

Just before the full moon I was walking a broad track with a boarder of grass and shrub set against a backdrop of pine trees. The scene was beautiful under the radiance of the moon and the breath of the night air.

The branches and few remaining leaves fluttered silver in the brisk wind, the pine trees were jet black below the canopy with shafts of moonlight punching down to the woodland floor. Above the silver needles of the canopy the deep blue night sky stretched out to distant stars and wonders that live within the mind but are not held by the eye.

The natural light of the moon seemed to purify the scene and bring my attention to the moment. Once again I felt the connection of mind body and spirit to the point in time, place and being. It is something I never tire of feeling.

Sunday Evening at the Jolly Taxman Inn

2011-01-16T16:26:00.000-08:00

Stepping out of the blustery wind and the early evening my eyes adjusted to the glow of electric lighting in the tavern. A rabble of late middle aged men clustered around the bar, the afternoons alcohol had raised their voices and lowered their inhibitions as they gave their opinions and set the world to right. I waited patiently behind them to attempt to unravel the mystery of the queue or if indeed anyone was ordering drinks at all. The barmaid glanced up and down the bar before looking to me for my order.

"Oi, I was first," barked a customer a few paces away, clearly annoyed at being overlooked despite his apparent lack of interest in ordering. I put my teeth back together as he glanced up and down the array of traditional ales before requesting a small glass to try the ale before swilling, considering and finally agreeing to order a pint. Once the barmaid had furnished him with his ale she returned to me to take my order. In the minute or so while she made my coffee, I looked around the patrons. The drinker who had stepped in before me to place his order was clearly annoyed by my presence. Hushed tones to his friend sitting beside him and sideways glances betrayed his feelings, others at the bar picked up on his mood and shifted uneasily as I waited.

I thanked the barmaid when she smiled and handed over my coffee and I retired to a table well away from the bar to sit in peace. I noticed the shoulders of the patrons sink slightly as they relaxed again and carried on their chatter. I overheard some of their conversations as I sat quietly, the conversations were of little consequence, but to them the setting, alcohol and ritual clearly was. This was their Sunday evening, their release from the working week and their time to drink uninterrupted and pass opinions to the like minded. They will talk and put right wrongs as they see them, the beer would fuel them and the revenue will gladly take their dues from the sales. They will work the week, make their money, drive the vehicles they are so proud of and again will pay their toll. When next weekend arrives again they will be back in the tavern and the cycle will repeat. As long as they continue to work they will be able to afford their lifestyle, but to what ends?

It was interesting to watch them, I could draw parallels to my own life and the cycles I drift into and the tolls I pay. The thought of a higher wage or status job and the stress it would cause me would leave me looking for a bar to spend Sunday afternoon in before emerging on Monday morning hungover and ready to take on the world. I will settle for my more modest existence, I will do what I enjoy and what is of benefit. If I am in need of expensive holidays, vehicles and the oblivion of days at the bar to numb the pain of my work, I will know I am doing something wrong.

After sketching and enjoying my coffee, I placed the cup on the collections bar and slid out unnoticed behind the patrons into the gloom of the evening.

The Path is Blocked

2011-01-14T03:13:00.000-08:00

On my wanders there are a few places that cause me concern and irritation. These are the barriers and fences erected by private woodland owners to segregate their areas from the public land and footpaths. In some ways I can understand their caution, there are people who would abuse the area in terms of fly tipping, vandalism and occupation but it does seem unnatural to barrier the woods in such a way.

Last year the news was released of a proposed sell off of public woods and forests. An image was painted of local people banding together to buy their own patch of green and pleasant land where they can watch nature and camp overnight for a few days a year. Having worked with developers in the past I remain unconvinced. I would expect these companies to begin buying up land and wait until there is a possibility of laws and planning regulations being relaxed to allow their kind of development.

Many years ago I read a book called The Making of the English Landscape by W.G. Hoskins. The book charts mans effects on the landscape and after reading it I realised just how little wild land we have left in the country and how mans influence has been slow but steady. From my point of view, selling the woodlands would allow this spread into some of the last places where nature still holds strong. At first it will be subtle, no doubt prompting comments such as "well we sold off the woods, but there has been little real effect", however I believe it is just the very beginning and gradually the fences and signs will emerge, walkers and ramblers will be limited to the official public footpaths and commerce will slowly but surely begin to nibble away at the woodland.

I am a firm believer that people should be working and living within the woodlands. The woods are an amazing natural resource where we can grow and harvest materials for crafts, forage and work with nature. I suspect such people are not likely to be able to afford the land when companies may well be looking to invest outside of banks for a better rate of return.

If you have a minute and have not done so already, I would ask you to please consider signing the petition to object to the selling off of our forests and woods.

http://www.38degrees.org.uk/page/s/save-our-forests

I would also encourage you to go for a walk in the woods to see what you could begin to lose out on if this goes ahead. In a few years time you could be attempting to take the same walk after paying to park, following the fence lined public footpaths with other walkers and passing ominous white planning application notices tacked to the newly erected fences.

Beyond the Flame

2011-01-10T15:00:00.000-08:00

The sight of a gentle flame in the darkness is always a sight that awakens the senses. From the warming camp fire to the gentle flicker of a lantern or candle, the element of fire always has a way of casting a pure kind of enchantment over its surroundings. It brings to my mind the possibility that I am sharing the same moment and energy as ancestors before me and draws my mind through time and space to bring scenes to life in the minds eye.

For the necessity of light and warmth though to the starting point for a meditation, the flame brings its elemental beauty to enhance life. I have seen its sight soothe sore eyes and tired minds before the onset of thoughts or deep sleep, I have felt its warmth drive away the cold from the skin and bring a glow to the face, hands and feet.

The dance of the flame needs no sound but is graced by the gentlest breeze, weaving and spiraling in union with the air. Living and breathing with the audience it holds enthralled. I will invite you to gaze beyond the flame, to feel the ancient nature of the element and the living energy it has brought to many though out the ages. For a while time will slow in the night, the body will relax and the mind will drink deeply of the sights of the element and find rejuvenation.

Part of the Machine

2011-01-07T02:58:00.000-08:00

Recently my night time wanders have carried with them observations from the day before. I find that on many occasions I have no objections to such passengers and with a little peace and quiet I can begin to resolve issues. For what it is worth here has been my passenger for the last day or so.

Like many who live in this age I am often using or repairing machines. These vary wildly from the utilitarian and crude to superb, elegant and efficient machines. The detail and craftsmanship are fascinating to me, they reveal the purposes and skills of the designers and craftsman who built them. When machines are understood they provide a far better indication of the minds and motives of the makers than the promotions and images that try to make a sale.

I have often seen parallels drawn between machines and aspects of human society. From my former days of being within and working with large companies I have had the pep talk, the business leader pointing out that we are all part of the machine working within our place towards a cause, the same parallels can be drawn to other aspects of living within a "civilised" society.

If we are to compare people to components of a machine there are a few issues that stand out. Some components fit easily into the machine, they require little effort to refine and adjust them to their roll. Some require considerable work in either continual disruption to the parts around them or intensive work removing and adjusting the initial component. This results in much of the raw material being removed until it is barely recognisable from its original self. Also there are some parts that will not fit at all or will simply break under the strain of the machine.

Stepping back and looking at the wider issue, we have to look at the purpose of the machine itself. This is to undertake a task for the owner. If a better machine becomes available the original will of course be discarded or possibly at best some useful components reused. In my mind there is always the thought that no matter how well a component works, there is always the chance of being discarded.

Without questioning thought and reasoning we will only dwell on the superficial and a part within a machine will beckon.

Equality in Darkness

2011-01-02T13:44:00.000-08:00

Sitting waiting within the foyer of the local gym, I cast my eyes around and familiarised myself with the sights. Video screens repeatedly played popular hits allowing the continual beat and basic lyrics to become a virus within the mind. Posters portrayed an image of physical perfection and assurances of health and happiness for a reasonable monthly fee and an eighteen month contract. A cool draft from the opening front doors and ineffective lobby announced the arrival of the well groomed and toned instructor. Without looking I knew he had parked his sports car in the disabled user parking bay outside the entrance as I had seen him do many times before.

I glanced though the internal screens to the gym itself, watching the users pattering along the tread mills and dragging weights around on pulleys. They reminded me of hamsters in wheels. It was a relief when my good lady emerged from the depths of the gym keen to leave.

Later in the evening I slipped the leash of civilisation and stepped out into the night. Here I could redress the infernal songs trapped in my mind with the gentle beat of my own feet on the paths and the faster clatter of claws and paws in the undergrowth from the dogs. Here I could relax for a while. Within the darkness I could pass from the judging eyes of people, here it matters little who or what you are. No boasts of status or symbols of wealth are of use. There is only the quiet and the darkness, time to think and dwell on matters that are housed deep within. When there are no deceptions, distractions or material gains to be made we can find an equality of circumstance and a value as to our real worth.

The Specter in the Mist

2010-12-28T18:08:00.000-08:00

Sometimes the depth of darkness can become staggering. Tonight I took a brief car journey to a wood I know well, the mists and fog surrounded me the instant I stepped from my aging car and away into the night with my two younger dogs. Once their excitement subsided and my eyes began to adjust to the gloom I found it easier to get to get my bearings and read the track ahead. The trees became a faint outline obscured by the mist against the clouded night sky, the calls of the Tawny Owls within the wood were the only sounds that crashed through the still lightless night. I pressed on, following familiar paths and stepping around the dull shapes on the floor of the wood that I knew to be fallen branches.

Once into the depths of the wood the Owl calls subsided and I glanced up. Undergrowth lay bare on the opposite side of the woodland ditch and amongst the branches a white humanoid figure shifted as I moved. For a moment I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand and was aware of adrenalin beginning to surge through my system. I wondered how someone could get so close to me in my own environment without me becoming aware of them, I steadied my mind and took stock of my situation. A glance to my dogs revealed their ease, on the rare occasions that I encounter someone on our wanders the dogs are aware of them well before they get close. They showed no such signs and I stood for a moment watching the figure. I shook the adrenalin from my system and calmed my mind. For a moment I listened. The sounds within the wood were as they should be. The disturbance of the undergrowth by the dogs and my own feet were the only sounds. The figure in the undergrowth on the opposite side of the ditch made no such noise. This was not as the laws of nature and could not be as it appeared to be.

Once the rational mind restored control over the impulses of the body I decided to confront the situation head on. A bridge over the ditch lay close by and I decided to head for it and close on the apparent lurker in the darkness. As I moved and focused my eyes the truth became apparent. The lurker was a freak of perspective and illuminance. The last of the snow and ice combined with the defining shape of the undergrowth had created an illusion that even an experienced night walker such as myself could misread. The specter was banished with a smile and a reasoned mind.

The night has again shown me a valuable lesson, and one that is perhaps reserved for an experienced student. Had I seen such an illusion in my younger years I would probably have been frightened away, giving tales of ghosts within the wood to those who would listen and want a few minutes of entertainment.

Recently I met with a fellow environmentalist who asked the question "have you ever seen something that cannot be rationalised or explained?" I replied saying "I have come across strange and on occasion disturbing things, however such sights can be explained my nature and are part of it, especially once you have a reasoned perspective" tonight I was put to the test and I feel my perspective is still as it should be.

Thanks to Gerry for your thoughts and question, they have inspired this post.

From Rags to Ditches

2010-12-28T04:02:00.000-08:00

The treks and trails I often tread have had many influences on me over the years. One of the more physical adjustments is my appearance. Nature and the elements are no respecters of fashion and I found my clothes and foot ware becoming worn and tattered. The constant repairs to our homes and cars over the years have also taken their toll.

To begin with I often replaced items when they became stained or torn. The influx of cheap clothing from the far east ensured this was no real financial hardship. But over time and with awareness I began to become uncomfortable with this. As is often the case I decided to give up on "keeping up appearances" and simply repair or put up with what I have, however it did become interesting to see the reactions of people to my shabby nature.

Many of the well dressed salesmen and executives simply ignored me, my apparent lack of wealth and status became a drawn conclusion. Such a conclusion results in the thought that I will be of little use to them. Interestingly the charity workers on the streets also tend to disregard me. Many times the young enthusiastic soul who bounds up exclaiming "hello, can I have a moment?" would pass right by me targeting the younger well dressed and outwardly respectable females. On occasion I would attract hostility, usually from young males who sought the approval of their peers. Barbed comments or insults are sometimes the way of communicating their contempt and desire for attention, luckily my mind is still fairly sharp and a swift and brutal put down as a response often results in a stunned silence. This is never achieved by a well dressed office worker walking by pretending the comment was unheard.

There are those who do take time to speak with me, I find these people are often quieter souls who make more of their opinions based on the first few moments of conversation. For me I find they are often far more rewarding to talk too. The exchange of opinions and ideas is a pleasure and in many ways I find myself dealing with fellow observers, wanderers, nature lovers, artists and craftsfolk.

Appearance and fashion is a language, it reveals a great deal about people. Like all languages, there are depths, deceptions and truths concealed or revealed within the code of human perception and interaction.

The Craftsman Part 2

2010-12-25T13:48:00.000-08:00

A While ago I posted my thoughts regarding craftsmen and the value of their work. Interestingly I noticed a tweet from Shelter Publications on Twitter that further provoked my thoughts:

"He who works with his hands is a labourer, He who works with hands and head is a craftsman. He who works with hands and head and heart is an artist".

I have often felt an affinity with the craftsman, I work with materials such as metal and wood, as well as with ink and pencil. The focus on a task is something I greatly enjoy. To draw the mind to a point of focus and concentration with the aim of creation becomes a meditation in itself. Outside of that task and focus, the issues of the world fade away to allow both the conscious and sub-conscious mind to dedicate themselves to perfection.

After reading the above quote I began to think of the line between the craftsman and the artist. Again it seems to become an issue of the focus of the mind. It seems that the artist draws inspiration from external sources and allows the mind to open rather than narrow onto a set task. The issue of opening the mind while remaining dedicated to the task is difficult, the mind can easily become distracted and wander from the task. So at what point does the craftsman become the artist?

I would suggest that it is like undertaking a journey down a track. The destination may be arrived at by watching the ground beneath your feet and stepping carefully. It can also be reached by learning to walk and read the ground with your sense of touch. This way the eyes may be lifted and the ears opened to all the information around, this way the everything possible is gathered on the journey to the destination. The inspiration around becomes part of the solution to a task and the artist is then revealed.

The Eve of the Winter Solstice

2010-12-21T02:06:00.000-08:00

Standing beneath a clear blue night sky I gazed upon the landscape before me. The night carried with it the sharpest frost I had seen in many years, the trees and plants wore a heavy white coat and stood still in the windless air. The full moon threw its light over and through the few clouds in the sky as they seemed to hang motionless.

The scene stood in silence, as the existence of people lay in only the past. The fences and labours of the farm workers from years gone by stood as tribute to their presence, but tonight the landscape belonged to the raw elemental cold against nature. Closing my eyes for a moment I could feel the night air claiming claiming the warmth of my body as if needing payment for the solitude and wonders before me. After a while I returned to the hovel to take a few hours rest before waking to watch the rising sun on the winter solstice.

The increasing glow of the sun pushed through low mists and clouds, gently at first as if giving the eyes chance to adjust from the night but it was soon in its full glory. The light rushed across the frosted landscape giving the trees a radiant and spectacular glow. Flutterings of wings reached my ears as the birds made their way to find food and show their survival of a brutally cold night. The walk towards spring has begun and I hope the nights will be a little warmer and kinder as we travel, but I have no doubts that there will be sights of wonder to inspire, let us hope they are appreciated and learned from. With luck more people will take the time to observe.

Scriptures of Flesh

2010-12-18T17:53:00.000-08:00

Earlier this month I was fortunate enough to meet a teacher who helped me a few years ago. At the time I wished to learn more about psychology, hypnotherapy and influence, what surprised me was that my motives for seeking the knowledge were disturbingly pure. I had already given up a corporate life and the rat race. I wanted to find a way of looking deeper and more productively into the human mind, to see what makes people think and act as they do. I also wished to find solutions to common problems that affect behaviour and to understand the reasoning behind the techniques.

I was shown a better way to use language and also an interesting technique to assess a person based on much older human behaviours patterns. By looking at the older traits of Nomads, Settlers and Warriors in both positive and negative terms I found I was able to understand how the balance of a personality can be tipped into problematic areas and adjusted to bring well being back to the individual. More details on this is available in a book by Terence Watts called "Warriors, Settlers & Nomads: Discovering Who We Are and What We Can Be" however I had the benefit of the structure being shown to me and explained by a professional clinical hypnotherapist, this for me was to be of significant help.

It was a strange feeling to commit such knowledge into my own sub conscious. I combined it with my own experiences of reading body language and mannerisms. Doors seemed to unlock within my mind and I was able to begin reading people once I had learned to turn down my own pre-concieved ideas of image and perception. From watching quietly within a crowd I find the gestures and positions of people sing familiar songs of insecurities, bravado, manipulation, enjoyment, friendship & threat.

It seems I have a new pathway to walk within my own mind and many fascinating sights to see and learn from along the way. The act of observation with a clear and open mind is indeed a powerful tool.

Many Long Miles

2010-12-12T01:52:00.000-08:00

To step out into a darkened landscape opens the mind to thoughts and observations that may lay hidden at the back of the mind or be obscured by the overload of information that seems to accompany daylight. Within my wanderings I have been blessed by the company of quiet companions. The dogs enjoy their freedom, being away from people, roads and livestock they have no need of a leash. As we travel they choose their own position and excursions away from the pack. This often shows their standing within the pack and reflects their own personalities.

Sadly we lost our top dog in early autumn to an infection. She had walked the paths with me for nearly a decade and a half and this had amounted to thousands of miles over the years. I find I still look for her in the gloom, her white colours were always well ahead of the pack leading the way. On occasion she would happen upon a rabbit and the chase would begin heralded by the scattering of undergrowth and her shifting form and route through the trees. With two creatures evolved for running at speed the chase was always spectacular. Luckily for the rabbit her instinct was for the chase and not for the kill, her quarry gave her reason for speed and a demonstration to the rest of the pack.

On our wordless travels she had given me many lessons to learn and a different perspective to see the world from. Nature is the finest of teachers and to learn requires a mind that can drink deeply from all the senses and scenes before us. Over the last few months the pack has adjusted to our loss, our youngest dog has taken the position. She now holds her ground at the front of the pack and accepts the challenges and the chase. It appears she has been taught well too.

Celestial Faerie Lights

2010-12-06T00:33:00.000-08:00

A gentle evening stroll through the village close to my home revealed to me the onset of the festivities. Gardens and homes are already decorated with led lighting and ornaments. A glance in the window of shops shows the seasonal displays and adverts. The footpaths tended to draw most of my attention due to their ice, in many places they prove to be quite difficult.

I was relieved to be back out in the fields and woodlands later that evening. The ground seems to be so much easier to walk on and allowed my gaze to be lifted. I took a moment to look upwards as I passed along a small hedgerow. In amongst the hawthorn and blackthorn is an aging oak tree, its branches are bare leaving it standing skeletal on a still night of a new moon. Within its form I could seem the stars sitting like jewels in the branches. The new moon is not generally renown for its dramatic sights, but this was magnificent. The magnitude of the slumbering stillness of the oak with the vast distances and lights within the sky overwhelmed the mind for a moment. This was natures seasonal decoration in the garden of rural England and it was my honour to be the one to see it.

The Snow Bound Hill

2010-12-01T03:24:00.000-08:00

As late afternoon gives way to the evening I found the gentle glow off the white landscape helped light my way through the flurry of falling snow. There were no obvious tracks before me, just my own knowledge of the paths and furrows to hold my feet steady. Rounding a corner the unseen narrow track lead up a steep hill flanked by ice bound trees and hedges, drawing breath for a moment we pushed on working as a pack. My strongest dog showed the way crashing through the deep snow with enviable ease. The rest of us followed enjoying the benefit of a furrow in which to ease our steps. As we reached the summit it was time to regroup and brush the snow from coats, ears and eyes.

The first snows of winter have proved to be heavy, but I see no reason to let up walking the trails. The difficult conditions bring the pack closer together and strengthen our bond. The rewards are found in the time spent together and spectacular scenes that lay before us together with the lessons of natures force. In allowing ourselves to be touched by the wild it seems we can find cooperation and understanding beyond the games of civilised society.

A Glittering Realm

2010-11-28T01:51:00.000-08:00

Under the light of the lantern the world glistens and shimmers in stillness as if walking a frozen moment in time. The moon sits within a cloudless sky with scatterings of stars to adorn the distant heavens. Not even the gentlest of breezes troubles the light branches of the hedgerows. The energies of a quiet early winters night are subtle but powerful. The heat from my hands and face is stripped away by the void beyond the world and the warmth from my breath momentarily clouds the air in front of me before vanishing into the blackness.

The allure of fire and moving forces may be dramatic but within this stillness is a huge elemental and quiet power. Living energies begin to return to source and seed to cope. For now, winter will give the branch and leaf a statuesque illuminance for the tree to bear until the warmth of spring brings forth the new growth from the root and seed.

Life has an ebb and flow. I will do my best to enjoy the ebb of winter. Not with the exuberance and excess of summer but with the a contained warmth gained from autumns labours. For me winter is a time for reflection and conservation.

A Misfit in the Palace of Commercialism

2010-11-26T02:51:00.000-08:00

Way beyond being bathed in light, I sat in the glare of the overhead white tubes. Around me was colour, every aspect of the interior shouted for my attention. Posters, packaging, advertising and menu boards filled the spaces. Dropped from the ceiling was the usual array of commercial christmas decorations and the continual blaring chimes of festive tunes assaulted the ears and raised the level of conversation from talking to a debate so that all within earshot could listen, regardless of desire.

With my hearing and eyesight overloaded with information I focused on my breathing to enlighten my senses of taste and smell. I would have expected a restaurant to be filled with the aroma of cooking food to the point of salivation, but not so. Hot oil dominated my nostrils but there were other scents below the surface and after a moment I recognised them. Cleaning products portrayed the staffs continual efforts to maintain standards after the spills and discards of careless patrons, the body odour of those a few tables away was also evident, but not overpoweringly so. I lifted my black coffee to my face to help mask the scents and cast my eyes around again. I was aware of the usual half glances and considerations directed at me. Not fitting the usual customer profile was bound to draw some attention. My worn foot ware with snagged and tired clothing show the miles I cover but in no way give the image of the family type or workman. I passed a smile and a few pleasantries with the lady clearing the tables, the friendlier side of my nature seemed to help put a few people at their ease.

Once I drained my cup I packed up and slipped out of the door. In the twilight the moon was there to greet me. Clear air cooled my face and began to cleanse my nose of the oils and chemicals. The soft light soothed my eyes and the hum of the near by traffic seemed a whisper compared to the music from within. I glanced around to see the people through the window, against the growing darkness they seemed to be lit up like a stage show, from excited children running around and standing on the seats to the under forties chewing and chatting loudly.

I turned into the new night. "Merry Christmas" I thought.

The Bard by the Fireside

2010-11-23T02:49:00.000-08:00

The crackling fire and the circle of seats entices the storyteller to fill the air with tales to dance with the imagination. A gentle light within the circle and a quiet anticipation of the opening words sets the scene and calls to the mind of the listener. The teller of the tale may have many ways to portray the story and many lessons and experiences to impart, but the silence and anticipation before the all so crucial first words is a deafening noise to the ready listener.

To truly listen to the bard is to open your mind to the influence of the tale and to know the motive of the bard is important to the perception of the tale. A bard by their nature should be capable of relaying their own perceptions and beliefs of a subject, to portray the words and meanings of others well, will ask a great deal of faith and belief from the bard to the words they will borrow. The teller who chooses to tell their own tale or version will betray much of their own inner self and risk showing their flaws, perceptions and prejudice. Such a teller is a brave soul indeed when it comes to imparting the lessons and meanings behind their own tales.

The bard and the tale is only a part of the show. The listener it seems holds the key to the success of the tale. The mismatch of the bard and listener will distort the spirit of the tale, but success will result in learning both for the listener and the bard. In this instance I suggest the spirit of the tale grows within the minds and actions of all there. The modern bard will speak to us through many forms; the book, the song and the show. But the essence of their work remains the same.

The Freedom of Sleep

2010-11-21T02:19:00.000-08:00

From the cool breath of the nights breeze after a summers day to the gentle warm embrace of the winter fire embers, the onset of sleep is the contrast to bring balance to the waking world. The body and conscious mind gives way to the tumbling complexity of the subconscious, here the lowest of peasants can become a king or see the world from closed eyes in glorious colours and emotions. Thoughts and fears can give way to euphoria or can deepen to the point of near madness setting the sleeping body running, kicking and twitching.

The protections we afford the body in the form of fours walls or the company of the pack or tribe are no protection to the turmoil of the subconscious and the release in dreams. So what do we see in those deepest of hours, a guilty mind seeking its release, the formation of a gentle message or sights of splendour to lift the spirit on the waking edge before we return control to the conscious world.

We all take the gamble of sleep and seek freedom within ourselves for a while at least. With luck we will find our bodies well rested and our minds full of learning as we wake.

The Transition of Material

2010-11-19T08:50:00.000-08:00

The history of development are laid out before me as I walk darkened streets, passing through the historical town centers with their surviving georgian and victorian buildings, through the industrial areas and the surrounding housing estates and out into the countryside where I feel most comfortable.

Here the traditional buildings possess quirks and features that tie them to the surroundings. The best of them show craftsmanship that is borne of the natural materials and skills of the area. The grain of the wood with its imperfections and pegs, the lime render and the roof tiles and stones from local quarries. To walk back into the built up areas it becomes obvious where commercialism and the power of oil takes hold. Mass produced bricks, tiles and windows with timbers brought from afar. Pressed and shaped into standard sizes and units, all so easy to assess and work.

Little wonder that those who dwell in such an area have lost a connection to locality and its resources. Mass production and transport seems to call from every corner. Even through the ornaments and pictures that decorate the walls and expensive cars in the driveways. Once we are beyond the influence of oil it makes me wonder if future generations will look upon these places with the same regard we have for aging properties and areas now. It seems that the connection to some areas is gained through the sports teams and apparent affluence rather than the ecology, the landscape and the longer history. Those that do retain an integrity have done so because of aspects of the picturesque and have evolved into places where the wealthy are best placed to buy acquire a property.

I will return to my modest hovel and try to use what I can to give comfort and enrichment to life. Perhaps with time and practice I will carve something that may inspire others to look beyond apparent wealth.

Fly by Night

2010-11-17T17:44:00.000-08:00

Step by step I could feel my every move falling under the scrutiny of eyes that see clearly even in the darkest of hours. I lifted my gaze from the track to the shaded form of overhanging branches set against the night sky. My observer sat among them silently watching. As if indignant of the disturbance the shape raised to a full height, wings were outstretched and the night air carried the owl away into the darkness. The branches barely shuddered by the owls movement and the silence of a still night was utterly uninterrupted. I considered it my good fortune to be looking in the right direction at the moment of take off, otherwise I would have missed the sight completely.

I carried on with my dog pack through the trees and tracked the edge of the woodland clearing. The still cool air crackled with the sound of the dogs paws in the undergrowth and occasional snuffling as they tested the air for scents and traces of life. Of a sudden the silence was shattered by an alarm call and the rattling of wings against branch and briar. Excited the dogs jockeyed for position to take a snap at the pheasant as he rose from the undergrowth disorientated and blind with panic in the blackness. He crashed into small trees at the clearing edge before clumsily landing on a branch only a couple of feet away from me.

The huntsman would have been blessed with an easy meal if he had been in my position, the bird could have been plucked from the branch by hand. Luckily for the pheasant I had no intention of taking him for the pot and I remained still to allow the silence to return and let the dogs to settle. The bird remained unconcerned by my gentle movements and sat tight as I moved away, leaving him to face the night again. All I took with me was the lesson of a creature being caught unaware and out of his element.

The Mill Pond Under the Autumn Moon

2010-11-16T17:49:00.000-08:00

As the nights draw colder for the oncoming winter months, frost gently touched the plants and cold earth before us. We walked the well trodden dark pathways and enjoyed the brief sight of our breath in the cool air. As the texture beneath our feet changed we stopped to take in our surroundings.

The wooden boards of the bridge were almost slippery in the frost underfoot and the cold of the rails stripped the warmth from fingers. In front of us the gentle mirror of the mill pond took on the deep blue hues of night and dark shadows of the trees at its banks. Only an occasional ripple disturbed the still clear reflection of the crescent moon, the winds took their leave, troubling other lands and most of the clouds had long since deserted this nights sky, leaving only a few to remain and hang in the light.

For a while we drank in the near perfect silence and stillness of the view. The only reminder of time and the passing of elements was the gentle tumbling of the mill weir some way behind us and the ghost like white swans on the water effortlessly gliding by borrowing the moonlight and bringing light to the shadow.

I opened my mind to the scene and felt the living energies and the distant celestial forms and forces. In that moment it felt like the quiet and near silence was roaring. The thoughts and disruptions of modern life ceased to be, there was only the feeling of the bridge sitting among the powerful elements in a segment of time.

An Audience of Leaves

2010-11-13T02:55:00.000-08:00

November can be an stunning time in the woods and fields after dark. The onset of the colder weather will often drive people inside to a night with their central heating and television, with the occasional night walkers from the warm summers evenings taking such refuge I am left alone with the night and the growing strength of the winds.

The paths and trails are often more treacherous as the leaves cover the sodden earth so I find it is more important to stop and take a little time to soak in the surroundings. The shifting moonlight caused by clouds racing across the crescent moon creates a dimming and glowing of the trees. Leaves raise on the winds as they flow and eddy among the undergrowth, shifting among my feet or clattering into my body and face as if disapproving of the choice of pathway into the wind. The roaring of the wind through the empty branches can be deafening one moment and drop to curious silence the next.

Strange that the fallen leaves take on a new life and energy in the Autumn, they mark the passing of time and elements before settling into the earth to help bring new life through the seasons. Much like our own thoughts and actions, they can be carried well away from the source and with luck will help bring new life and fresh energy elsewhere.

(thanks to Winterette for inspiration for this post).

Illuminance in a Gallows

2010-11-11T17:39:00.000-08:00

Suspended above a vacant car park is a spot of desolate illuminance shuddering against the darkness. Unnecessary and unmaintained it drains energy and performs no purpose. The housing is rusted and outdated, its location is poor and the glass shade is clouded and holds rainwater captive obscuring what little light it can provide. The barely visible glow is not even appealing to the moths who seek light with energy and vigour, but it remains holding onto an existence that was never been of value.

In many ways it is not the sight of the lamp that saddens me, but the parallels that can be drawn with some of the people that I meet.

On Reflection

2010-11-10T04:54:00.000-08:00

I realised during early years of teaching that one of the best ways to learn is to copy. All creatures have an incredible capacity to copy and it is a trait that is buried deeply into the subconscious, so much so that people are often unaware they are following, learning and being influenced.

The surroundings are also something that will greatly effect the behaviour of an individual. During an evenings wandering I may well be treated to the sight of reflections in dark pools, being close to nature I find this soothing. I also walk areas that are built up, badly laid out and have a tense atmosphere. It is hardly surprising that some people who dwell and are brought up in such an area can become part of the social problems that permeate it or alternatively they will make it their objective to rid themselves of the problems and either leave or seek influence that will grant them a position of apparent power of respect. Some will of course simply keep their head down and try to survive.

The effects of influence and reflection can simple and subtle to begin with (especially if you are constantly in the middle of them). They can however build and become consuming. To question your own motives and influences is not always easy and deep thought and questioning is often not encouraged unless the likely outcome benefits those who control the environment.

For me, I will take my inspiration from nature and be mindful of the spirits of influence and reflection in others. With care, awareness & observation I should be able to learn lessons from others without straying from my own purposes.

Passing By

2010-11-06T03:58:00.000-07:00

Those who wander will know well the feeling of letting go of problems. Wandering is in many ways a form of connection for me, no doubt my ancestors would have travelled to suit the harvests and migratory patterns of animals. The passing of people and animals across the face of the earth would have been like a living energy moving in time with the seasons. Wandering would surely give a chance to leave behind problems and the promise of the new prospects in the next place.

I suspect much of this is buried deep inside my subconscious and leaves me with a feeling of tapping into new energy as I travel, even if it is only to walk a large circle and return home. It is rare for me to meet other wanderers as I physically move around, but it is good to know of others who do the same through modern communication. I have learned so much from many a fellow traveller and look forward to reading of their own experiences.

There does seem to be an art to wandering. Any fool can move from one place to another, a true traveller or wanderer will learn as much as they can on the way. Not only about the world but about themselves.

The Merchant, The Nobleman & The Thief

2010-11-01T17:54:00.000-07:00

I ask your indulgence for a moment to allow me to paint a picture within your mind.

Centuries ago the woods in these parts were a place of caution, law and order was held mainly within the towns and cities. The countryside could be a wilder place where the thieves and those of ill repute could find refuge. It was said that folk found guilty of a crime could be sent beyond the pale. The pale was a boundary between civilisation and the wilderness, to send someone beyond it was banish them and deprive them of civilisation.

During hard times many honest folk would be forced to do what they must to survive, doubtless many would have taken jobs of little reward, or risked activities that could mean banishment (or worse) in their attempts to make ends meet. It is also worth considering that many who lived the habitual life of crime would have the same fate.

Within the walls of a town the merchants and noblemen would sit as safely as they could manage. The manipulation of law, politics and the power of money would be their tools in the game of survival. The populous would be the pawns in the games they played.

As the centuries have passed in some respects it seems that little has changed. By sleight of hand, force of arms/a dagger in the darkness or manipulation of word, the games continue. So who would you trust; The merchant, the nobleman or the thief. It seems they are alike in many ways.

The illusion of honesty and respectability remains a mask for many in society, to be slow to trust gives time to question the motives of those who seek to gain favour. With little apparent influence and material value I find I have also time to watch and learn the game played against other more seemingly more respectable folk.

Rest Well Fellow Traveller

2010-10-30T03:21:00.000-07:00

With the end of October fast approaching and the nights drawing darker, I take stock of the year and harvest my thoughts.

For me it has been a summer of hard earned lessons and a few more battle scars to add to the character. But I am still here, still watching and learning, still passing on what I have learned to those who want it. Much as in the ways of those who have gone before me and will follow.

I hope to enjoy warmth in body, mind and spirit. I will pay my respects to the land and to those who have borne wisdom over the ages. I will also do my best to earn the respect of those who follow in later years.

Rest well fellow traveller, I hope winter is kind to you and shows you her beauty.

Clarity of Thought

2010-10-29T03:52:00.000-07:00

A week or so ago, a little before the full moon I was blessed with a clear night of few clouds with a gentle breeze. This is beautiful weather to walk at night, once I was wrapped up against the chill I took to the trails. As the paths through the wood were dry I was able to keep my gaze on the canopy and the sky without fear of sliding in wet mud, I was also able to put my mind to productive use. I mentally turned over problems and sticking points from the week and solved more than a few issues while taking in the scenes before me. I returned home and was able to put pen to paper.

A couple of days later I found myself in an office catching up with a client and updating them with progress. I listened to the coughs and sniffles of the staff and watched them hold their ground until the lunch break. A steady stream of people left for a breath of fresh air and to escape the sight of the computer monitor that stares them in the face for many hours a day. It seems to me a most unnatural form of existence and must surely go some way to explain the amount of sick days office staff take and the relief of enjoying or even living for a weekend. For me it is a life I am glad I have stepped away from.

Sitting in the Folds of the Water Dragon

2010-10-26T16:08:00.000-07:00

A little over 8 years ago I took a walk without my pack. To walk without my dogs is a rare thing and a sure sign that I have something on my mind. After a mile or so I found a spot by the side of one of our countries largest rivers. I squeezed my way through the undergrowth on the upper bank and found a spot beneath the trees where I could observe the river and wait for the sun to set. The volume of water passing by me was staggering and I sat watching it listening to the gentle wind ruffle the leaves overhead.

In my mind I was struggling to bring myself to this incredible spot. I had worked hard over many years to gain a respected position within a company. I enjoyed working with the people within the company and I felt appreciated. I was also beginning to enjoy having a little money and the possibility of promotion, however I had also experienced first hand the disgusting aspects of corporate life, not within the company itself but with their clients.

The delegation of powers down the clients structure was clear, they were utterly obsessed with deadlines and money. The shareholders drove the thirst for money and the managers and underlings beneath them were concerned with little more than becoming shareholders themselves and putting forward a show that would demonstrate to them the lengths they would go to in order to protect the money invested. Even if that involved lies and discrediting those who were working to create something for them.

I watched the rivers constant passing as the sun set and realised that I needed to make a change. The money from the job was welcome and appreciated, but not worth the personal cost. With my choice made I relaxed into the river bank, took in the scene and began to put together ideas for a life that would give me other choices. Freedom was still a long way off, but I could still aspire to it.

Escaping the Voices

2010-10-23T19:08:00.000-07:00

Images and sounds seem to build up within my mind. At first it is something that may well appeal to my sense of humour. Other times my attention is drawn to an advert yelling for my attention. Tonight I reached a saturation point, random catchphrases and tunes popped into my thoughts and still images of Saturday night TV seemed to hold an echo in my eyes. There is so much of it now that many are hardened to the onslaught and seem to respond like a machine to vote lines and tv (or telephone) competitions.

I decided to step away and walk out into the night. Once in the fresh air I began to adjust my thinking and perspective. The full moon creates a glorious light within the woods and to tread among the pools of light and darkness becomes a pleasure. After a quarter of an hour. The paths seemed to have helped purge me of the constant commercialism and once again my mind was traveling freely. Listening to the sounds of the wood, drinking in the clear sights under the full moon and feeling the cooling air on my skin.

It seems that when we look at the world though a narrow window, we begin to think of it as a whole. The reality is actually outside of the door, but many choose to disregard that. The window of journalism is something that can inform us but is limited to the perspective of the journalist. Sometimes there is more to the world than what is told.

The Contrast of Light in Shadow

2010-10-21T16:36:00.000-07:00

Last nights walk proved to be a greatly rewarding experience. On reaching the nearby woods there was not a cloud in the sky and the moon was truly radiant. Brilliant white light flooded the woods, illuminating the paths and throwing deep moonlit shadows from the pine trees. The autumn air was still & cool enough to numb my nose and mouth as I took breath. Only the distant sound of traffic on the road and an occasional passing headlight in the distance was a reminder of the presence of other people. As is often the case, the scene was mine to enjoy alone and I felt honoured to be there.

As I made my way through the shadows of the pines, a pool of moonlight was cast through the canopy and onto a small tree by the side of the path. Such was the intensity of the light, the foliage was lit up as the light passed through the small leaves. I stood for a moment to take in the spectacle, while the moon shone at that particular angle that simple tree was by far the brightest thing in the wood. The effect was quite theatrical, but all the more impressive because the lighting was provided by a celestial spotlight.

The Defeat of The Ego

2010-10-19T04:52:00.000-07:00

Wandering the woods last night I remembered my early years when school awards were given out. Awards for the athletic kids, awards for the smart kids. Praise for excellence. We all seemed to aspire to the praise and recognition, it was encouraged and to be thought of as a looser was a ridicule that bit deeply.

The issues of childhood seemed to stay with me into my 20's and I sought for perfection and recognition. I also remember a point at which my ego finally shattered and I gave up on trying to achieve these and instead focused on what I could learn and understand. At this point I began to listen to my failings and study them. Every time I was defeated with an issue I made a point of trying to put aside the stubbornness, denial and scapegoating that the ego seemed to hide behind. I began to take apart every detail and learn, I would then put myself back into the situation.

I was surprised by the results. Not only did I begin to loose my own fear of failure, but I began to systematically dissect the strategies and attitudes of people who were previously seen as high achievers. Then I began to learn from their failures. In addition to this I also began to question the very rewards of success. The expensive cars, gadgets and homes of those who were apparently "successful" began to mean nothing to me. In many ways I find those who feel the need to show off in such a manner breeds a distrust within me. I found many previous role models lost their influence and control as I looked beyond the apparent.

The repressed ego doesn't mean I have to be used and abused to fuel the ego and desires of another. It does mean that when I deal with such a person my actions come from a logical place and are intended to correct their manners rather then worsen my own.