Seasonalight

Light Seeking

Wren-ly: The joyous resilience of a tiny (river) bird.

Wren, by me.

“Wren; small, migratory singing bird, Old English wrenna, metathesis variation of earlier werna, a Germanic word of uncertain origin. Compare Icelandic rindill, Old High German wrendo, wrendilo “wren.” (etymonline.com)

The suffix like is a model for Spring Theory, an evolution from the root gelic, lic, like, and to ly.  

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Wren perched in a little thicket of dogwood. I heard her first, of course, even above a whoosh of Taff water spilling the Blackweir. Then her roundness appeared so tiny, so seemingly defenseless in the face of human derogation (in this case, river-borne litter caught up in tweavelets). … Read more

Hubrigenesis ~ the evolutionary aftermath of the biospheric violence of the Anthropocene.

Plastic in wetland habitat, photo by me.

I have been thinking of Earth Crisis, the sixth extinction and futures.

Paleontology proves such catastrophic shifts in abundance and diversity of life have happened before, and more quickly than one might imagine.

This time, the trajectories of evolution ahead of us, or the new biogenics of Earth systems, have been irreparably skewed or deviated by anthropogenic activity. Even an ice-age predicted by Milankovitch cycles has been prevented. The bitter truth is that, for a long while, certainly since the Rio summit of 1992,  these harms have been a conscious effort ~ the first time in Earth’s history.  … Read more

Symling ~ a neologism

She speaks. Photo by me.

 … Read more

Dipper Love

“The love for all living creatures is the most noble attribute of (hu)man(ity).”

~ Charles Darwin

Dipper and Grey Wagtail by Charles Tunnicliffe. Please click on the image to discover more about this wonderful artist.

The path rolled out in front of me like the lolling tongue of a happy dog. My strides were photon pulses upwards from a gloomy darkness that had haunted me for an age. Elm trees stood as watchmen, and I passed beneath conscious we were akin, so far, all survivors of disease.

After I received my good scan result, taking a chance on a tramp across town to glimpse a dipper at Blackweir seemed a necessity for me. … Read more

Notes on ‘Trying for Ambivalence.’

In this  piece of prose, I am expressing myself at a juncture in life, a collision of complex matters that are important to me right now, and causing me much emotional pain ~ love, Earth crisis, cancer.

I hope to explore the idea that some ambivalence, far from being malign in relationships (with humans, non humans, self and in our work ~ protecting the biosphere and machines), must be embraced as part of the process (fundamentally, I am a process philosopher). There would be a point where rejection and change is wise ~ letting go ~ but no relationship will ever be perfect. … Read more

Trying for Ambivalence.

“Love, in relation to ambivalence, has its own vicissitudes. Our recognition that these are inevitable – and indeed an internal part of love – allows them to seem less a reason to give up. And, of course, the same point applies in our sense of those we love.” 

John Armstrong, Conditions of Love; The philosophy of intimacy.

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Clipped in, I drive home. Snow dusts itself around the windscreen-wipers and a low sun feels to be piercing. I am in pain. The return home from the cancer centre is a little complicated, no direct bus route and a bit too far for me to ride a bike. … Read more

Boardwalking.

Boardwalk, Cardiff Bay Wetlands. Photo by me. 2019

Cardiff Bay rolled out in front of me, gold foil under an open sky. The light hummed a deep serene as I walked out on to the boardwalk. I wanted to commune with wild birds. Black-headed gulls preened and feather-shook to forge water diamonds in the early evening glow some distance away. I leaned over the hand rail and a mute swan gazed up in full expectation of food.

Built sturdily for the likes of me in my chemo-altered state of compromise, I was grateful for the access. I was grateful to be alive. … Read more

Towards the Picascene

Curious Maggie, photo by me.

Observe a European magpie, Pica pica, balancing on a perch in the wind. She’s a whirl of black and white feather-tempest, a stunning aves with a glint in each onyx eye. If sunbeams infuse among her barbules, purple-blue-green iridescence radiates out as a thing to behold.

I live in a small attic flat on a hill in the city. There’s a big balcony and a view over slate rooves to a wide southern sky. From here, I watch all my rooftop birds as masters of their medium ~ the craft of flight in the dynamics of the toposphere. … Read more

End of environmentalism, beginning of life-ism.

My daughter’s young hands in the River Wye. Photo by me.

 … Read more

Ottery; on self and the other.

Fish scale in otter spraint on a fallen oak leaf between my fingers.

Otter spraint stained the smooth rock with a redness I’d not seen before. A translucent fish scale and tiny bones glowed in the shade beneath wintry stems crouching over the river’s edge. I’d been there a long while before noticing it.

My intent was not to think about treatment. Nor cancer. Nor my complicated life, in general. I just wanted to ‘fly-wheel,’ drift. Have some me-time. I didn’t even want to think.

Chemotherapy makes my skin sensitive. Finding myself alone, I braved it without a hat, the air whispering around my exposed ears. … Read more

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