Now the Wolf is in the Cul-de-Sac

A poem for the December dark

Photo by Julien Riedel on Unsplash

The dark is getting to me. I try and get out as much as I can at this time of year, to soak up the vitamin D but I’ve been entrenched in the second edits of The Ghost Lake and then working to get on top of Spelt duties, freelance work, commissions, all the stuff that I’d like to get out of the way before Christmas. I’ve only left the office to walk the dog, and he is very elderly and can’t go far these days.

I am reaching desperately for the Winter Solstice next week, crawling towards it, when the the days start to get longer again. I feel ground down by the dark right now.

But then, I remind myself, this is how it has always been and this is how I always am at this time of year. This is perhaps a kind of ritual of the body - to tire, to be reduced to just a few hours of sunlight, but then to find the strength to return, to come back, to roll myself across the black sky in my own golden chariot.

This is the Trundholm Sun Chariot. It’s Nordic bronze age, a representation of the sun being pulled across the sky by a horse. It was discovered in a peat bog in Odsherrad.

Next week we will turn back towards the sun. I’m hoping the weather holds so that I can witness the rising.

In the meantime, here’s a poem from my 2017 poetry collection from Valley Press, Gifts the Mole Gave Me.

In this poem I wanted to capture something of the wilderness of the dark, and the descending madness of something like seasonal depression. I don’t have seasonal depression, I’ve always had just the bog standard clinical depression, of which I am free at the moment, which is nice. I have been for quite some time actually. Am I cured?

In the poem the wolf becomes an emblem for this wild, dark, dangerous time, coming down out of the trees and into the normality of suburbia, moving through the cul-de-sac with purpose, while the fragile people wait inside their houses.

Now the Wolf is in the Cul-de-sac

it’s come down with the dusk, left
a vast geometry of pines, thin lines
of Christmas trees, sheep hemmed
into the grey-black fields. It’s worked
its way along the red brick walls,
PVC doors, nudged wind chimes
with its nose, paced the patios
and blanched itself to white in each
security light. You watch it coming,
hands, like X-rays on the glass,
your face as undone
as an etch-a-sketch, and all
that keeps the wolf away is light.

So each house lights its windows;
kitchens bitten into squares,
bathrooms petalled-finger-prints
of oblique head shots over sinks.
The wolf leans up against
your letter box and presses
forward with the wind and while
the dog whines from the sofa,
wolf knows neither sit nor stay. 

Thanks for reading.

Here’s some other news for you:

New Writing Event Klaxon Course!

The Weekend Write Along

January 27th 10am to 3pm UK time.

This is the first of a series of ZOOM events aimed at writers who want to be inspired to write and to have the space to write. The first event features author Polly Atkin who I have invited to come and talk about writing memoir, following publication of her memoir Some of Us Just Fall. She’s a celebrated, internationally recognised award winning writer and a brilliant person all round, well worth coming to hear what she has to say about the craft of writing.

All events begin with a guest speaker talk, followed by a Q&A with the speaker. After that we’ll have two creative writing prompts and time to sit and work together, checking in on progress and discussing our goals. It’s £25 for the day, and you can find more details here:

December Book club

Our book club choice for December is Nicola Chester’s Nature memoir On Gallows Down. Come and chat all things book related in our friendly zoom book club, taking place on 17th December. This event is FREE to paid subscribers of Notes from the Margin, but I ask a small donation from guests. More details here:

What To Look For in Winter

What can we learn from nature in winter? How can we write about it? Where do we exist in the natural world and how do we tie that world to our own lived experiences, physical and emotional?

Winter is the dark time when the world is waiting: a time for survival, a time for for reflection, a time to experience the darker side of the world and to dig in and recognise the strengths in ourselves and the resilience of the world around us. In this four or six week course (depending on the tier you choose) we’ll be exploring nature in poetry and prose using natural and supernatural themes. From migrant birds arriving and leaving, to insects in their subterranean hideouts, the trees speaking to each other out of sight to the rites and folklore around the darkest days. This is your chance to explore the natural winter world both as an observer and in the context of your place in it. In What to Look for in Winter we’ll explore this world through published works, museum artefacts, film, imagery and physical interaction with nature, using prompts and directed activities to write ourselves into the winter months. 

The course starts on 3rd January, a chance for you to start the year by prioritising your writing, perhaps, and to face the post new year’s slump with positivity and courage.

If you are a paid subscriber to Notes from the Margin, you are entitled to a discount on the course, as a thank you for supporting me and my writing.

You can find out more about the course, and book your place on it, here: