5,7,5 – 365  22nd December 2015

5,7,5 – 365

22nd December 2015

A haiku, and a diary entry, every day for a year.   

 

Yesterday, the gloomiest of days, marked the winter solstice – the year’s shortest day and its longest night. I can be pretty gloomy myself, even on the longest and brightest of days, but these annual events, marking the passage of time, always lead me to reflect on what has and will be lost. On this dark morning, when I look at Laila, who grows ever more beautiful, I’m am once again struck by the relentless passage of time; what we once were has been lost, what we are now will soon no longer be, what we become too shall fade.
 

The days grow longer

Another year behind us

Our days grow shorter 

 


5,7,5 – 365  16th December 2015

5,7,5 – 365
16th December 2015
 

A haiku, and a diary entry (not for the Peterborough Tourist Board), every day for a year.  

Peterborough is not my favourite city but I visit every day. What it lacks in charm and warmth, it makes up for in some small part by having a rail link into London. Poor public transport links to the city from the outlying countryside and villages, stupidly expensive station parking (£14 a day!) and the ever expanding controlled parking zones haven’t done anything to help – I long for the day that I won’t have to return again. Yesterday morning however, as I walked to the station through the dark, the city’s usual sounds muffled by the fog – blackbirds calling from the trees, front garden hedges and lights through front door windows took me back to my teenage newspaper delivery route and for a moment at least there was something comforting and familiar about the place.

 

This morning, arriving a little later, the cold, charmless light of day has broken through the illusion and I’m walking through Peterborough again, a place at its best before sunrise.

 

Dawn streetlight bird song

Orange fog muffled traffic 

Memories of home

5,7,5 – 365 28th September 2015

A reblog because I noticed that when originally posted this was uncategorised (or ‘rized) and because I like it.

5,7,5 - 365

5,7,5 – 365

28th September 2015

A haiku and a diary entry everyday for a year.  

The level expanse of our fenland landscape is dominated by the wide horizon and the big skies. The lunar eclipse may have been a little harder to observe here because of the curling mist that rose up out of the dykes, a problem aggravated by celestial bad timing – I mean 3.00 in the morning, what were they thinking. But never mind, we are still blessed with little light pollution and unhindered views. No two sunsets are the same and I never tire of watching them from the front gate. The full moon rising in the east always looks enormous, the progress of the planets can easily be followed and we can clearly see the Milky Way splashed across the night sky. We have seen meteors, observed the International Space Station crossing overhead…

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5,7,5 – 365  8th December 2015 

5,7,5 – 365

8th December 2015
 

A haiku, eight hairy legs , and a diary entry, almost every day for a year. 
 

The internet had us out collecting conkers this October, they apparently will ward off house spiders. It does seems to have worked. Now the only time we see anything with eight hairy legs is when Archie and Arnie are wrestling under the coffee table. Sadly however, whereas the old lady who swallowed a fly ended her story with a horse, we began ours with a horse chestnut and now find ourselves bothered by flies. Beware! You meddle with nature at your peril.

 

Bowls of horse chestnuts

Have house arachnids conquered

But plague us with flies

5,7,5 – 365  8th December 2015 (b)

5,7,5 – 365

8th December 2015 (b)
 

A haiku or two, and a diary entry, almost every day for a year.  


I read a haiku on here earlier today, about the Western pipistrelle, got me thinking of our own common pipistrelles. They were one of the surprise treats our first year living in Lincolnshire. Their aerobatics in the garden proving to be such a distraction from both television and supper that they have become the first thing I check on when returning home on summer evenings. Laila even bought me this bat detector for my birthday, that has been deployed every summer since.


Standing silently outside at dusk, holding hands, we have often had the tiny bats fly right between us, seemingly oblivious to our presence. Zipping back and forth makes them difficult to count, there might be only three that just seem like thirty. Here are two, or possibly one, captured with a flash that first summer.

 


 

Common pipistrelle

Your spiralling dance and swoop

Passing between us