
The 12th gathering of Redthread began under swirling mist and ended in the rain-washed brilliance of a " Pure Land in the West".
a high pressure ridge
clear blue sky
Sadly, at the last moment, the two Kims were unable to come, so we were eight - ably led as ever by Ken and fed by George who provided our excellent cuisine - this time with an oriental flavour, enjoyed by Stuart, Bill, Helen, Jean, Jane and her guest, David Hawkins, a young writer staying at Ty'r Gawen and helping out in the garden.
silence
has a voice
Morning meditation was adorned by the ticking of the clock and the cat's loud purring. Then Helen introduced a thoughtful workshop on the use of "synaesthesia"( the mixing of the senses) in haiku writing. This was followed by Ken's talk on "disjunction"( the gap and the swerve) and its potential for the deepening of spiritual content.
that slight stagger
between his tick and tock
For a wet afternoon a visit to the art gallery in Machynlleth kept us dry and interested while the CAT café and the pub next door offered warmth and nourishment.
In the evening we listened to Stuart's first Haibun and Ken's two hundred and fortieth, while flames flickered and rain beat on the window panes
the tongs
detached from the spider's web
Sunday morning... and a lengthy discussion over breakfast on what to do with another wet day
the short ones
that follow it
Ken suggested we celebrate harvest in Pennal village church, where Buddha, Shiva and the Jewish Minorah share space with the Christian saints. Everyone else opted for inspiration from the great outdoors and it was an auspicious morning - all the clouds suddenly rolled away leaving a glowing landscape under clear blue skies. Most people went to the beach.

breaking
to exuberant froth
A flush of haiku about sea birds, waves, stones and shells were soon appearing on the dining room walls, with a bit of local history and a whiff of scandal from Ken to complement the 'shasei' of the sea shore.
and Chanel No 5
it makes me wonder.
Meanwhile Bill had been wandering lonely as a cloud in various places without any waterproof clothing and taking care of the poultry.
the dragon and jack
hang limp together

George's fascinating introduction to the structures of traditional Chinese poetry in various translations was accompanied by birdsong and the sound of running water in a sun-drenched garden. We were further inspired by readings from David Hinton's 'Mountain Home - the wilderness poetry of ancient China', and even began to perceive the true meaning of 'tzu-jan'.
"The vision of 'tzu-jan' recognizes earth to be a boundless generative organism, and this vision gives rise to a very different experience of the world. Rather than the metaphysics of time and space, it knows the world as an all-encompassing present, a constant burgeoning forth that includes everything we think of as past and future...the awesome sense of the sacred in this generative world:"... yes.
As usual, after dinner on Sunday, we reviewed the 'writing on the wall', kindly led by George. Perhaps we were too tired after so much good food and fresh air, but it seemed there were too many words to deal with and useful responses were lacking - maybe a limited space would tighten things up a bit.
I meet the cat's straight stare
and begin again
Finally, a conversation about recent perceptions of Redthread as a group led to a decision to re-state its aims in 'The Brief', which Ken bravely volunteered to do.
the light that is under the skin
of a cucumber
Jane Whittle 2008

HAIKU chosen from the wall
KEN JONES
Lord and Lady Londonderry
with nothing more to say
their empty eyes
and trailing laces
deep in nettles
to the next
his upright block of stone
his withered flowers
that slight stagger
between the tick and tock
the dragon and the jack
hang limp together
GEORGE MARSH
the light that is under the skin
of a cucumber
breaking
to exuberant froth
JEAN NAPIER
a Tibetan shrine
is born
a sunlight flash
on white feathers
a high pressure ridge
clear blue sky
STUART QUINE
HELEN ROBINSON
the short ones
that follow it
silence
has a voice
quartering the wood
a flurry of rain
the tongs
detached from spider's web
under crashing waves
all the tiny mussel shells
of kelp and crab shells
the salt scent of decay
a small dogfish
its shark's teeth
JANE WHITTLE
green
collapses into light
I meet the cat's straight stare
and begin again
BILL WYATT
the dog chasing
his tailess tail

All photographs are © copyright Jean Napier to whom we offer thanks for permission to reprint.

