Going out night-walking is a new experience for us, new and a bit unsettling. There are no street lights, no houses and no cars, so it’s dark—very dark. For the dverse open night.
Pale-coated hound in the moonlight,
Silver-haired and silent tongued,
Listens to the sounds of the shadows.
Beneath the thin moon, acorns tumble from the tree,
Branches crack and the music of the poplars
Is like waves on the strand.
I peer into the darkness between the moonbeams,
Where the hound sniffs and pricks his ears,
Where a subtle world of half-tints and whisperings
Creeps and pads through dew-damp grass,
An orbit, parallel but never touching
The banal and sharp-edged, puddled reflection,
That is our meagre human realm.
Jane Dougherty Writes 
It can be unsettling walking in the pitch dark and real quiet of the countryside, if one has been used to living in towns. At first I felt as if danger was lurking round every corner, but as long as I didn’t sprain an ankle, I realised I was much safer than in the city.
Walking with a dog ought to be reasonably safe. On condition that the dog isn’t as frightened as you are…
I find it so weird that we fear the darkness… maybe we need to be taught what night should look like. Going out and seeing it sounds wonderful to me.
We fear what we don’t understand and we moderns fear what we can’t see. Ours is a very visual culture and the night seems to be not playing fair. It’s mysterious and unsettling, but it shouldn’t be frightening, you’re right.
Loss of any of our five senses is reason to panic and sight is the most important.
Sight seems the most important to me too.
Perhaps the darkness just allows for reflection of our own shadow. I love the otherworld suggested here.
It gives me the impression of a reflection of a world that we only touch without being able to enter. Like the otherworld. It’s certainly easier to believe in it at night.
‘Beneath the thin moon, acorns tumble from the tree, branches crack and the music of the poplars is like waves on the strand.’ This is soo beautiful!❤️
Thank you, Sanaa! The night is very mysterious and strange.
I wonder whether Finbar was ever taken for night hunts or lamping in his previous life. We never walk Eivor and Pearl in the dark and they are very quick when they need to go in the garden at night, with the outside light on.
He is very frightened of other dogs that he hears in the daytime, and often refuses to go further than the end of our property. At night though he chases after all the little noises and rustlings. Not sure he was ever used for hunting though. He doesn’t bat an eyelid when he hears gunshot and certainly doesn’t chase after anything except cats (and toads). I think he was probably used for racing.
:o) xxx
🙂
It can be scary.
I love the night. I am an insomnia from since a tween. I wander around st night, down to the end of the lane. I love the dark. This poem gives the sense of the other world.
Thanks Toni 🙂 I’ve always been afraid of the dark, brought up in an old creaky house in an isolated area. I enjoy the night noises and sensations here and feel relatively safe from creepy things when I have a big dog with me. He always ends up being spooked by something though and we bolt for home.
I was raised in a creaky old house (built by my great-grandfather’s grandfather) – in the city! Here in the country in another state, I am still an insomniac but I wonder about our neighborhood now. I take my sword with me just in case. Never needed it. Foxes, coyotes, wretched raccoons….they all tend to steer clear of me – thank goodness!
I can’t say I’m surprised they steer clear of you! Have you ever used your sword?
LOL, yes. Years ago when the Samurai was teaching me kendo and sword skills, he got angry at me for some reason. I don’t even remember but he pulled his sword and I pulled mine and was basically banging away at him to keep him away from me. He did some kind of weird swerve and I, well, I accidently cut the lobe of his right ear off. It cooled us both down all of a sudden and I had to take him to the emergency room. It was pretty weird having to explain how it happened to the doctor on duty which fortunately, Masashi knew and explained to him we were practicing. It was pretty hairy at the time but it is funny now after all these years. That’s the only time I have used it other than doing forms and meditation with it.
I imagine that in Japan if you go to the hospital with a Samurai and sword wounds, the doctors sort of understand 🙂
This was when he was practicing medicine in the US! And they actually do not look well on sword wounds unless you are in some kind of martial arts program. He was far past that!
My information comes from Kill Bill, so, you know, not exactly authentic 🙂
Yeppers but one heck of a good movie…or two!
I sat in half way through and hadn’t a clue what was going on except it involved lots of blood letting.
Yeppers. That was mainly it. But she finally had her revenge on the The Man who broke up her wedding. The Bride had her day. I’ve seen it about times and always shake my head at the incongruity of all those men flinging themselves willy-nilly at a death machine.
Violent men probably find it hard to admit that a woman might be dangerous.
Yes they do. they always seem so surprised when hoist on their own petard.
Women don’t play fair sometimes 🙂
I love how you highlighted the senses- as result of the darkness. I could hear every snap, crackle and pop!
There are a lot of those, and rustlings and scurryings. I’m glad it’s hidden life—it would be such a shame to be able to see everything.
You are very lucky. Night wandering is a gift and thanks for your poem. Felt I was there.
It is a strange sensation to be out at night and to be nervous of wild things I can’t see rather than potential muggers.
I have read somewhere that people are what to be afraid of in the dark, not the dark or creatures in the night. I remember from growing up in the country the absolute sense of safety walking around or being out at night as a wonderful memory and a touchstone of peace for me when I need a safe place to go in my mind.
I have wonderful memories too of growing up surrounded by countryside, walking anywhere, through woods and over farmland without being afraid. We’d go out for whole days, from dawn and my parents never worried. I worried if my kids were ten minutes late getting in from school.
Yes, me too, for both. …
Shame it’s a thing of the past now. Not necessarily because there are more predators, but we certainly know and worry about them more these days.
I anticipated a coyote in the dark…it’s interesting how much of the world is hidden from us or is not explored. Great fodder for poetry!
No coyotes in these parts. Nothing bigger than foxes. I’m glad it’s hidden from us. If there were no mysteries, the world would be very dull 🙂
I remember the velvety blackness of night in the country before electricity (yes, I know … I’m old). It seems we never see real darkness any more. So much to fear in the city quasi-darkness. Beautiful write.
Although I was brought up in a semi-rural area of the West Riding, the big towns like Bradford and Huddersfield produced too much light pollution to see as many stars as I can see here. The old mercury street lighting had gone and we had that hideous orange sodium lighting that made terrifying shadows. You’re right, the half-light in the city is much more frightening than countryside darkness;
Reminds me of the first months after moving from London to North Norfolk, walking the dog by moon and starlight. You’ve awakened memories, Jane, and they won’t go back to sleep.
Go walk the dog 🙂
I’m the total opposite being a confirmed solitary bumpkin. So when I have to take the dog out after dark (as is now the case) in the city, I get absolutely freaked out! Whereas with no light except moon and stars I’m never scared. I guess it’s just what one is conditioned to.
I agree, being out after dark (relative) in the city is potentially much more dangerous than it is in the countryside. It’s a known danger. The fear of what’s lurking in the countryside darkness is primal and probably irrational these days. But it goes deep.
So good, the night, the dog, the walker and the realm just there. You’ve cleverly suggested both the longing for, and fear of this parallel world – and the narrator taking her cues from the hound is a lovely touch.
Thanks Peter. I have a dog that is tame but not domesticated. I hang onto his lead when we’re among the wild things and he hangs onto me when we’re in the world of the humans. We’re learning from one another 🙂
You take us into this realm between the moonbeams. I would probably be anxious–I don’t like to walk where I can’t see, but reading all of the comments, I do realize that’s it’s different from the fear of walking in a dark city where one is afraid of being attacked. And different, too, when you’re with a dog.
I get anxious but probably over the same things that make the dog excited—the twigs that crack could be something that would set him chasing through the trees and pulling me behind!
Although I live somewhat remote I do have neighbours. Unfortunately. And they’re nosy. The best I’ve managed (so far) is sitting outside in the garden watching the full moon. The neighbour was peeking over the fence the whole time to see what this strange woman is up to! It’s a bother.
Oh dear. When we were looking at places to live outside the city, we crossed off the list all the places with neighbours. When you’re in the countryside, people are even nosier than they are in town. There’s no anonymity at all. We have neighbours, but not within a couple of hundred yards at the closest. The rest are at least half a kilometer away and we can’t see them through the trees. Suits me.
I had about six months of being almost by myself, only people on the furtherest end of the row of houses. It was bliss!
Hell is other people. How true!
… was up to!
and probably will be again 🙂
… and the last two lines are so very true.
That’s how I feel. Maybe it’s best that we are held at arm’s length by the wilderness. We’d only mess it up if we were allowed to join in.
The wilderness requires a different understanding and we’ve grown away from it. just a whiff here and there is all we get.
True. It’s unfortunate that the people who claim to be most in tune with nature and the best able to speak up for it and defend it are…the hunters.
I hate them.
They’re not very lovable, are they?
I hate them!
I understand. I wouldn’t shed many tears if they all dropped into a black hole.
Perhaps the darkness reminds us of the deep, shadow self of our own minds that “spook” us. I like how you describe your experience as otherworldly…it is…of our own making. Cool, Jane.
Thanks Gayle. I’m sure you’re right, the fear of the dark has so many complex sources, and is so deeply ingrained in our psyche it’s very difficult to rationalise it away.
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Thank you!