the world has darkness

June 24, 2020

‘Did you ever hear the legend of the moonspinners?’

‘The what?’

‘Moonspinners. They’re naiads — you know, water-nymphs. Sometimes, when you’re deep in the countryside, you meet three girls, walking along the hill tracks in the dusk, spinning. They each have a spindle, and onto these they are spinning their wool, milk-white, like the moonlight. In fact, it is the moonlight, the moon itself, which is why they don’t carry a distaff. They’re not Fates, or anything terrible; they don’t affect the lives of men; all they have to do is to see that the world gets its hours of darkness, and they do this by spinning the moon down out of the sky. Night after night, you can see the moon getting less and less, the ball of light waning, while it grows on the spindles of the maidens. Then, at length, the moon is gone, and the world has darkness, and rest, and the creatures of the hillsides are safe from the hunter and the tides are still . . .’

Mark’s body had slackened against me, and his breathing came more deeply. I made my voice as soft and monotonous as I could.

‘Then, on the darkest night, the maidens take their spindles down to the sea, to wash their wool. And the wool slips from the spindles, into the water, and unravels in long ripples of light from the shore to the horizon, and there is the moon again, rising from the sea, just a thin curved thread, reappearing in the sky. Only when all the wool is washed, and wound again into a white ball in the sky, can the moonspinners start their work once more, to make the night safe for hunted things . . .’

Beyond the entrance of the hut, the moonlight was faint, a mere grayness, a lifting of the dark…not enough for prying eyes to see the place where Mark and I lay, close together, in the dark little hut. The moonspinners were there, out on the track, walking the mountains of Crete, making the night safe, spinning the light away.

Mary Stewart
The Moonspinners

She walked quickly through the darkness with the frank stride of someone who was at least certain that the forest, on this damp and dreary night, contained strange and terrible things and she was it.

Terry Pratchett
Wyrd Sisters

intoxicating darkness

April 7, 2020

our breathless bodies entwine,
intoxicating darkness
enclosing us –
salt taste to your silky skin
like a firefly
quivering in my hairless arms


January 12, 2020

There is no darkness darker than that which can be found in the human mind.

I remembered how we delved in this ghoul’s grave with our spades, and how we thrilled at the picture of ourselves, the grave, the pale watching moon, the horrible shadows, the grotesque trees, the titanic bats, the antique church, the dancing death-fires, the sickening odours, the gently moaning night-wind, and the strange, half-heard, directionless baying, of whose objective existence we could scarcely be sure.

H P Lovecraft
The Hound

in a void

December 21, 2019

Darkness is a strange thing — it is both infinite and confining; it holds you tight in its grasp, but it holds you suspended in a void. Silence operates in a similar way. Slowly the two combine to become a threat.

Reggie Oliver
Come Into My Parlour

Night truly fell

December 8, 2019

Spirits and gods were woven into the fabric of ancient life not because of a lack of scientific knowledge,  but because our ancestors lived in the larger world;  one not designed by humanity.  It was a bristling place, it was Nature entire, with all its merciless peril and untamed wonderment. The shelter that our ancestors forged from the living real was far thinner than the bubble within which modern humanity moves. What’s more, the ancients comprehended this far more readily than modern folk do. The fierce, unveiled wilderness was just outside the door of those houses of wattle and daub. Night truly fell in those fire-lit villages. Darkness meant something to our ancestors.

Today we have lost this connection because we are quite literally addicted to light. We have washed out all developed areas with constant artificial illumination. Darkness is now often little more than an ambient backdrop to our nocturnal activities.

Richard Gavin
The Moribund Portal: Spectral Resonance and the Numen of the Gallows

between the trees

November 24, 2019

Her heart was a dark forest and her soul all the wild things dwelling between the trees…

absolute love

September 4, 2019

To understand absolute love is to realise you are a more than a message scribbled in darkness.

Night music

August 25, 2019

The music of the night lies not in the stars but in the darkness between them.

Chloe Aridjis