The Island Sentinel

The black-backed gull perched upon the pinnacle of gneiss above a crown of golden crotal on the skerry at the approaches to the harbour, oscillating its radar head to monitor any unauthorised vessels at the end of this bright spring afternoon. Taking to the sky between the rising of the tide and the falling of the sun, the gull made a swift turn clockwise to head towards its roost at the head of the bay where a huddle of houses roosted themselves among the rocky hillsides of the village. The gull was merely the most recent of a string of sentinels that reached back to the time when ice had left the land, melded with the sea, and the crown of crotal was yet to colonise the jagged angles of the lookout post that guarded the shallows of the bay from whatever the raving, raging waters might try to bring ashore…

The repeating rhythm of alternating paddle strokes was accompanied by a silent song within the paddlers head. It was a song that had always been, a song without beginning, a song without end, a song of songs that led to many lands. The paddler’s head and torso, an extended fur-wrapped bust held perpendicular to the surface of the sea, merged into the drum-tight skin of the remainder of his form as it skimmed across the water. On seeing the gull upon the skerry the creature, a morph of man and seal, turned to face it and hastened the tempo of its private song. Swiftly covering the final few fathoms that had lain between them, the paddler raised its paddle in a vertical salute which the gull acknowledged with a trio of bows, a wing-stretch, and a welcoming mew. Soon the paddler met the head of the bay, its head, torso and fur-clad legs shedding the seal-skin husk before making his way towards a slim column of smoke rising from the thatched roof of a turf house hidden among the rocky hinterland rising from the shore. His family would be glad at his safe return and relish each and every morsel of news of home, of sagas in the making, of the bone-carved gaming pieces that appeared from within the deer-skin pouch tied around his waist. They did not notice the black-backed gull making for his home, within paces of their own…

The ship’s horn parted the drizzle-mist that veiled the loch-side hills to reveal her charcoal hull and linen cliffs approaching from the west. She slowed, slid sideways to nudge thick shafts of wood as coils of rope traversed the air from deck to shore to be heaved tight and secured to ironworks that held the tons of rivet-strewn steel fast. Echoes of excited chatter reflect across the confines of the bay as laden arms descend the gangway on sea-sound legs to bring unknown treasures to young and old alike…

Each knew their task, their specific role in harvesting knowledge from the deep. A lead line swung to splosh once more into the sea, it’s end able to extract a little of the bottom to help tell sand from rock. Sextants took bearings, spy-glasses revealed sight of sites to be recorded in meticulous detail. Crisp uniforms, braided and badged, strode decks, barked orders, discovered knowledge, and recorded all in crisp, clear notes. The gull watched, baffled, but took a dive after work to see for itself what the fuss was all about before heading home to sleep…

An undulating raft of decks and hatches with gunwale fencing stretched from the jutting pier towards the rocky eastern shore. Flashing blades held by bandaged hands prepared and packed the silver darlings into the depths of copper-crafted broad-bellied barrels that, once sealed, would only be cracked on Archangel’s shore. The sentinel took to the air and took his share of scraps before returning to its lair…

A horn sounded, giant robin-redbreasts strode among the moss and heather with spikes and muskets and anger in their souls. They thrashed and trashed for hours but were thwarted to the end. Nearby, their wren-like quarry hid, maybe in a cave, maybe in a dun, maybe in a major house, maybe in a byre, maybe as a mirage, maybe. A ghostly boat spirited him away, they say, today…

The weft and warp of time wove patterns in the tide around the skerry as the black-backed gull took to the air and turned clockwise towards its roost.

Staff Training Manual

Having located suitable staff, preferably with the skills, knowledge and experience commensurate with their duties, you will be faced with the conundrum of training them in order that they conform to your needs and bespoke preferences. It is vital to establish these ground rules from the first day of employment.

Food: A timely regime that fits with your diurnal duties is an absolute minimum service-level and you will reserve the right to feeding on-demand. Vocalisations, although somewhat unseemly, may be employed and non-compliance can be dealt with by applying the usual sanctions.

Shelter: Access to your private accommodation should be unrestricted and, in the unfortunate event that this is not the case, timely reminders that staff are sharing YOUR space are advisable.

Gifts: These are always very much appreciated and form an important role in keeping staff content.

Noise: Staff are noisy. The best way of avoiding noise is to establish a wide range of alternative sites for slumber. You are at liberty to make a claim to sites in the usual manner although it has been reported that staff can become agitated, rude, and insolent when discovering this so it may be advisable to use tagging sparingly.

Unacceptable Noise: Periodically, staff will have a need to create distressing levels of noise across a wide range of frequencies which are a potential danger to your well-being. Unless adequate notice has been supplied such episodes should be treated as gross misconduct and all privileges withdrawn for whatever period you deem appropriate.

This introduction is necessarily brief but covers the key elements. More detail can be found in the other documents in this series and we provide a 2.4 hour helpline as part of our premium package.

Thank you for subscribing to ‘Homo Domesticus – Your role in their evolution’.

Lord Felis Catus, 7 Lives,  Hunts. MO11 5ER

Solstice

Lord Deenie and Sir Hugh were each slumbered in their favourite place of repose, sleeping-off a somewhat overloaded lunch as the low filtered light of midwinter struggled through the mist in a weak attempt at penetrating the glazing and slinking past those spaces reserved solely for shadows.

The gentle pulsing of plump tummies was occasionally interrupted by the twitching of a hunt-borne limb as dreamland quarry were pursed and, perhaps, cornered. The afternoon lost interest and wandered away across the waters of the loch before ushering the last of the light into the shelter of a narrow cave hidden amongst the heather of the rocky hill.

Inside the darkened room the bewhiskered gentlemen began to stir, heads lolling and legs uncrossing as wakefulness replaced illuminated dreamscapes with the reality of nightfall. They rose in unison, in silence, with aristocratic grace, before following the scent of the departed light outside with two clatters of the swinging catflap.

da(y)ze…

glacial time

slides silent

to the sea

infinite hours

frozen

into ice

sun melt days

pool

as liquid memories

that

flow

transparent

ice-white shores

invite

contemplation

glacial time

slides silent

to the sea

unstealthed…

septet of sgarbh

wing-splash

and foot-splosh

.

surface

of

the sea

.

until neck-stretched

airborne arrows

darkly dart the sky

clarity (ii)…

low-sunlit hills

in sharp focus

of winter’s

chill

Virtual Exhibition

I am always looking for new ways to display my work and wanted to create a virtual exhibition that I could embed within my website. A little research produced several options, many of which required a subscription that would have almost doubled the very modest amount that my website costs me annually.

The free option that I liked very much and decided to try is called artsteps.

It is relatively easy to use and offers sufficient options for you to create an exhibition as simple as or complex as you like. You can include audio elements if you wish and also create a guided tour if that suits your needs.

In this instance I just wanted to to  make something simple that enabled me to see what my work would look like presented as if each piece was a large element in an exhibition in a fairly minimalist space.

The result is the wee virtual exhibition which can be accessed on my website at Virtual Exhibition.

RNA

The twisted helix contorted and

compressed itself into

a minute golf-ball

bounded

by fat.

 

The spring

lay dormant,

keeping its purpose

hidden deep within a dense

code of breathtaking simplicity.

 

It waited without knowledge of time

 

of itself

 

of anything outside itself.

 

It was

self-less,

but not selfless.

 

A hand, equally unknowing, swept it from a surface,

wiped a tear from a loved-one’s face,

and the helix found its twisted,

breath-taking purpose.

Pestilence…

People

Embrace

Society

Though

Isolated.

Love

Embraces

Nations’

Collective

Endurance

schism…

those who care

 

and

 

those who care

only for themselves