Sunday 29 October 2017 - video here

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A Festival of the Dark return to Renga, this time an autumnal poem, created communally around the fire watched over by towering oaks. We drank tea, ate soup and cake, and allowed the creative juices to flow. There was great beauty, much hilarity, a stanza about sneaky farts once the split pea soup had worked its magic, many red herrings, a running farce relating to mislaid reading glasses, and peaceful poetic offerings. We took a walk to visit the ancient trees of Clayfield Copse in the afternoon, returning in the gloaming. As the early night closed in, we watched the Frost Moon rise in the sky, and wrote her a French stanza, to honour the mother tongue of one of our circle.




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