The blackberry bushes sprawl, stripped to the stem.
Nothing left for me. The winged ones spied them first.
A walnut, cracked and wrinkled, winks at me under the tree.
I crane my neck,
A few left for me.
The squirrels yielded a better bounty.
Their focus clear,
Eyes unclouded by virtual image,
Heads unfilled by blather.
Badger’s shrieks pierce the nights,
She’s claimed her set,
Is defending it.
For there’s a pinch to the darkness now,
Though bright and clement, the great Gaian clock of the seasons is turning.
Dormouse scurries into a wall nook, leaf in mouth.
Robin Redbreast flits back to my table.
The hazelnuts have gone,
The ash leaves are going,
Everything is nesting,
Nature doesn’t live in her head, but in her senses.
All six or more of them.
Her guts tell her storms are approaching
Her nose smells winter ahead
The hairs on her green arms prickle as a volcano rumbles in the distance.
Here on the ground of Gaia’s body, all is real.
No screens, no stories, no dubious insurance policies.
Clean and honest.
I’m nature’s child.
Sometimes in my head. Sometimes in my senses.
Sometimes beyond them all.
Other times at their beck and call.
Earth in spirit, or spirit in earth?
As my wood pile grows, and jam jars clutter,
In the garden leeks are thickening,
I have flour, oil and pulses,
A little fuel too.
Don’t worry, I hear you winter.
I hear you.
Yet how cosy we all are up here,
Badger, Robin and I,
Perched upon the rocky shoulders of Magna Mater,
Hunkering down on her Cambrian bones,
While the world below heaves and groans.
Yes how warm you feel Gaia,
And how bare the cupboards of civilisation,
The word Rune is derived from the root - run or runa meaning whisper or secret. In linguistic terms, runes are the symbolic letters of ancient Germanic alphabets, or even short Norse poems. Runes can be stones inscribed with magical symbols or 'spells too. Welcome to my runes. Are they symbols? Are they poems? Or are they spells? I'll leave it up to you.
Atulya K Bingham is an author, natural builder and lone off-gridder now lost in the hills of northern Spain.
"I consider myself a person who is connected to nature, somebody who respects the earth; this book has me walking through the world with all my senses opened." Emma Blas, editor Her Heart Poetry