A Speech of Birds

A Speech of Birds

I went out for a wonderful walk this weekend. It was organised by Victoria Field who runs The Poetry Practice. We had a guided walk by two RSPB officials through an area of Blean Woods and stopped along the way to listen to birdsong, connect to the place and practice some writing. The wind blew away a lot of the bird song, but we did manage to hear a Wren, Robin, Greater Spotted Woodpecker, Blackcap and Great Tit.

 

Catkins, soft and pliable compared to the strong oak trunks.

The weather was bright and sunny, but a chill wind blew through and kept us more active and walking to try and keep warm than staying still, writing and being contemplative.

Being in the wood.

Victoria calls the project she is working on ‘A Speech of Birds’, it is a celebration of the Blean through poetry and creative writing.

It was a delight to be in the woods with other likeminded people, really looking, listening and feeling our way. The stopping time which was inserted into a large circular walk felt like a gift.

 

Walking together through the wood.

At these points we were able to experience the woods just a little deeper. At one point we were asked to note twenty observations. We had walked into a glade and stopped and sat, out of the bitter wind and looked, listened and felt where we were.

The space between, a clearing in a wood

The calm silence

before the wind blows once again

Reminding us of the changeable season we are in

Sitting in the glade, writing.

I realised then that this is very similar to sketching a place. When I sketch, I look with more depth into the subject, I capture far more of that moment than when I take a photograph. I suppose this is being mindful, both writing and sketching something specific allows for a deeper observation of the subject.

We contemplated birch trees with bar(k)code musings...

Mindful Writing

I recognise that similarly, the difference between taking a photograph and sketching is also the same of being aware and commenting on your surroundings when walking and writing about your observations.

A single beech leaf.

Being mindful encourages me to fully be there in that moment noting, not just the shape of a leaf but its lightness of form, the irregularities of its surface and the tiny movement as it hangs singularly on the branch, being blown by the cold wind.

Stubborn leaves quiver

Cold chill some wind picking up

Birds sing merrily

Standing in one place

This was one of the subtitles from last week’s blog, it actually fits well into this one too, and so I shall leave it there, standing still amongst new text, experiences and observations.

The Yew and Beech 'danced' together.

We often need a constant; something still that we move around, it can be a partner, a friend, a specific place or many other things. We each have our own. I see these things as landmarks in our own worlds. The Street in Whitstable is one of mine.

The Street, tide out for the Supermoon.

It is a constant, it weathers all storms, it may disappear completely at high tides but there is always a feature in the sea, a trace of its shape formed by the currents that are created by its form as it lies submerged, waiting to be exposed again at the next low tide.

A long way to walk.

Unfortunately, the weather here last week for the solar eclipse was not conducive to fully appreciate the event. The sky was overcast, its colour a deep grey that got deeper and heavier as the light dimmed. People had gathered expectantly on the slopes at Tankerton and then as they wandered off I noticed the sky feel less heavy and that is when I realised it was over, that must have been it, the eclipse had passed.

 

Looking towards the West.

It was a very different experience to the eclipse I had witnessed in 1999, that day had been bright with a cloudless blue sky. We had constructed a viewing box to ‘see’ the eclipse and the image was amazingly clear. But what I remember most was that as the sky darkened the birds stopped singing. It went quiet and cold. That was my overriding memory. A tiny glimpse of what the world would be without the sun and that was a shock.

The evening of the solar eclipse had promised to show us the Supermoon which had blocked out the sun, earlier in the day. We went down to The Street to view it, but again the cloud was so thick and low that it was impossible to even see where it could be in the sky. But, what a surprise! The tide was way out, so far out that when we walked out to the end of The Street it took a long time to get there.

 

Strange interference on the water surface.

The water to the left of The Street looked like the old fashioned coloured pixels on a television screen. The sea glowed with muted colours of the sun set, but the surface of the water looked like it was ‘crackling’ with interference. I have never seen this phenomenon before, so I was able to end the day with another new Street memory to add to my existing collection. 

The Blean

‘Blean’s speciality is that it was the woodland attached to a holy city.’ Cites Oliver Rackham in his foreword to ‘The Blean, The Woodlands of a Cathedral City.’ The Blean is large, over 11 square miles, and ancient. 

In a couple of days I have booked to attend another event for the Speech of Birds project, again organised by Victoria. This writing workshop will be held indoors this time, so I will wear less layers and so will hopefully be able to use my arms more efficiently!

The cold wind on my face

Watching others hankered down

Against the cold, writing

Furiously with cold fingers

into favourite notebooks

We will be looking at prose and poems relating to the Blean and writing in response. I look forward to that, exploring the Blean through writing and using my experience from Saturdays walk to really get to know the place better.

Woodland ants waking up.

 PS. the poetry, haiku and observations are my own and unedited. I am sure they would benefit from some more work; there is certainly room for improvement, but as 'memory sketches' for the day, they serve me well.