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3rd教父和他的儿子在昏黑的屋子里，正在

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3rd教父和他的儿子在昏黑的屋子里，正在与父亲讨论如何为自己的兄弟报仇，妻儿在隔壁屋子里欢声笑语，灯光明亮。教父低声说着，眉头紧蹙，神色紧张，教父的儿子低头听着，眼睛里透出一股凶狠，隔壁的亲子之乐于他们而言似乎不值一提，为了家族的发展，下一秒他们就可以让这间屋子的昏暗吞噬隔壁的明亮。

The godfather's son is in the dark room, discussing with his father how to avenge for his brother’s death. His wife and children are laughing and laughing in the next room, with bright lights in the room. The godfather whispered, frowning and looking nervous. The godfather's son looked down and listened with a fierce look in his eyes. The joy of the parents and children next door seemed insignificant to them. For the development of the family, the next second they could let the darkness of this room devour the brightness of the next door.

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2nd高原草地上，背靠着大海，阳光明媚，清风微拂，几个少女们手拉手围着圈在跳舞，她们唱啊跳啊，脸上的雀斑似乎在微笑，发丝也在跳舞，她们暗恋的男生正在不远处农忙，她们希望那微风裹挟着她们的笑声送到心爱的男生那里，让微风代替她们亲吻，让阳光代替她拥抱

On the plateau grassland, with their backs against the sea, the sun is bright and the wind is gentle. Several young girls are dancing hand in hand around the circle. They sing and dance. The freckles on their faces seem to be smiling and their hair is dancing. The boy they secretly love is busy farming not far away. They hope that the breeze will carry their laughter to the beloved boy, and let the breeze kiss them and let the sunshine hug them

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1st地窖或者地下室，设施齐全，有一扇很

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1st地窖或者地下室，设施齐全，有一扇很重的，门，狭长的通道通往地上，需要拉开沉重的门，地下室里有冰箱，打开了一瓶可乐，床的上方角落里有蜘蛛网，它的网慢慢伸向我的的脖子，缠绕着我， 我的瞳孔放大，不能呼吸

The cellar or basement has complete facilities. There is a heavy door and a narrow passage leading to the ground. It needs to open the heavy door. There is a refrigerator in the basement and a bottle of coke is opened. There is a spider's web in the corner above the bed. Its Web slowly extends to my neck and wraps around me. My pupils are enlarged and I can't breathe

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A man is leading the way. His voice is muffled. I cant see him, but I know he is leading the way. Of course, again, it is nighttime—it seems always to be night time on the Edge. Words are slippery. Place is paramount. Words slip into the cracks of the place and I feel it settle into my cracks too, and feel myself slip like words. Even the crack of feet on stone slips and slides away.

Tender. I feel tender, and raw, and exposed. I am mixing. Mixing with sounds and scene—with the voice as it fades, and the rock as it moves. The rock is rough around me—enraged while placid; calm while roiling. That is how it keeps things: handprints, ages, children. The scrape of rock; the scape of rock. It keeps things in echoes. In the way it suggests and hints at echoes. I feel echoes.

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Rock underfoot. Relaxed with horse..

Feel? Quiet; happy to go slow. But the music intrudes a different rhythm, as if to overwhelm that mood with thecoarse pressure of time / change to modernity

In a small group.

It’s evening. Has a feeling of “after”. Then compromised by sense of change.

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[Little or no bird song.  “the sedge is wither’d from the lake / and no birds sing’. Keats.LBDSS.]

Day

On the edge, hearing a sound from below.

Close by.

Narrow soundscape

Human tradition. “Folk” modern but gesturing to tradition, though slurring it. Neither fully now nor then

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Day or night?  Either/neither. Out of time.

Yes, ‘on the edge’. It’s more in timeless time than in space.

Disoriented. Drips fall but a sound-mist rises, and faint howls from the earth.

Nothing is near. No relative distance.

Blank, waiting to crystallise.

No people – no place but everything comes from far off. Erasure of detail, personality, “thisness”.

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Cadence of medieval/ older/ folk music and unfamiliar instruments inspire a different kind of emotion. Scene used is also less familiar - slightly dissonant. Unexpected, inspires a new kind of emotion.

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I found myself halfway between childhood fantasy of place and space in Garner's Weirdstone story and my local memory of place and space which is located in childhood.

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Got a radio, it buzzes and then comes to life. "Can you hear me?"
"Yes" I answer. "Where are you?" I look around, unable to  make out any distinct features. It's alien. I'm not sure. My heart beats faster. The light is different. I don't recognise the smell.
"Hello, are you still there?" The voice makes me jump.
I anwer slowly.
"Yes -" I attempt to say something then stop.
Looking around swiftly, I finally answer.
"I don't know where I am."
I answer slowly. "Yes

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Wizard's Inn, warm, full of people. Sitting in the corner, drinking a pint and people watching. A fiddler plays, a melancholy tune. It's noisy, but the sound cuts through the room.

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It is night. The air is crisp and biting. The moon is full and there's no breeze. Everything is still... waiting for something to happen. Wolves howl in the distance... I'm at the top of a hill looking down at the forest. Inviting, dangerous, warmer, magical, forbidden. Beyond there a cave, green, damp, moldy.

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Walking at night, with others but not too close to them. Feels uneasy and isolating. Hearing just enough to know there are others there, but not enough to hear what they are saying properly. Feeling more cooled, then more chilled, as night air grows colder. Smelling musty air, inhale the dust from the ground as we tread it. Feeling the roughness of the ground beneath feet. Tasting moisture in the air from dampness or perhaps from fear.

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Populated. Daytime. Music nearby. People nearby. Above ground on a reasonably flat area. Suddenly feels very empty when the music stops.

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Small animals, birds. It is night, but not so dark that there cannot be shadows. Everything is more eerie at night. Above ground, but the animals move above and below. When they stop, you look around and see what has changed.

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A feeling of dread comes over me when first I see them, knights atop warhorses trotting along, going... somewhere. I do not know, the wizard who leads them will not tell me. I should be scared, yet I am calmed by his words - I know they mean no harm, they serve only the Edge now in death, whatever their disposition in life. They pass me as a chilled wind, fading to nothing.

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The funeral dirge for all those sleeping knights and their horses can be heard at times, echoing through the streets of an alien world far removed from the one they knew. It fills the ears and yet remains distant, like a fixture in the mind that is only heard when one least expects.

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It is night, I am near the mouth of a cave. The noises of nature are drowned out by a wail from deep within the underground depths. I think, I feel, that the knights are waking somewhere beneath me. The animals, the trees, the stone, they feel it too.

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There's a wind coming up the hill from below. There is no salt on it. I have always lived near a coast and not being able to smell salt in the air makes me feel disoriented. There is a haze in the distance and it is a warm day but I can't smell smoke. It makes me feel tense, like something should be happening, or is about to happen. When it is warm, and I can see haze, I should be able to smell smoke. The wind drops and it is very still. That makes the tension worse. I don't know how to be comfortable.

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It's daytime outside, but how easy is it to forget that, to become disconnected from the heat of the sun, its jarring. Its not far below ground, it didn't take long to get here, walking carefully and most importantly, quietly! It's so quiet, I don't want to disrupt that. It's much colder. I can smell and taste the cold and the dampness. I can touch the rock and it is slightly crumbly. I am looking across the quiet space to the impossible colour of the stone. I can hear other people in the distance. I feel a bit resentful of the sounds they are making intruding on this piece of air I am trying to keep still and whole. I am thinking about people, and whether we leave and impressions in rock. I am wondering how many people before me have been absorbed by this sheet of stone.

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The perceptions that there aren't birds mean that they aren't there for visitors.

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The violin is a bird. The violin is not a bird: it is wood, gut, metal. I'm nowhere near the Edge. Though if I convince myself I am—by staring at the image, or by thinking on those times I have been there in books—I can feel the place building as the sound does. Up, around, beside—even within. There's trees, and rock cut in wild ways. There's dreams, and the swimming of sound: that darkened violin curlew, which repeats, retells, surrounds. Is a dream itself. It's always nighttime on the Edge—always a time for dreaming.

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There's nothing to see. Even in those books there is often nothing to see. But soon, made warped sounds become even more than crawling: they seem like language.

Of course I am below ground. But close enough to the surface to be spooked by the sounds of crying, wailing, curlew-ing. Which shifts into drips or drops sieved through layers of earth and sod, sidles through rock shaped as maze; as inherent waterway.

You take the sound and you break it. You take the sound and you make it—when shadows are there or thereabout, and the crawling things you know are there too seem to be closer. Closer. This is what darkness does. It grows sound—milks it for all it suggests.

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British folk music as people site around a fire in the evening, drinking and quietly chatting as they listen, sitting under the stars.

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British folk music as people site around a fire in the evening, drinking and quietly chatting as they listen, sitting under the stars.

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Animals caught in the dark, trying to get out as the cold wind whistles through.

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Changing Light (Perceptions of the Edge Workshop, July 2021)

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Changing Light (Perceptions of the Edge Workshop, July 2021)

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I have been there, say, as a young person, as a teenager, at dusk, and then suddenly thought - the atmosphere can change. Nothing has physically changed but something has altered. And suddenly, and it may be a trick of the light as it gets dark, but suddenly the trees marching away into the dusk seem to take on a much more sinister quality than they did before and I can remember almost running down the side of Saddlebole just to get out of the trees and into the light again.

I felt that closing in. That being squeezed by something, and then I had to get out of there. I didn’t feel directly under threat by another human being, which actually probably would have been slightly less uneasy because that would have been more palpable, but this was something quite different, this was a need not to be there any more and just to get out into the light and get away from under the tree canopy.

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Virtual Field Notes: Senses and feelings

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Virtual Field Notes: Senses and feelings

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•What can you feel, touch, smell, taste?

•How do you feel? (emotional response)

•Are you alone or with others?

•Is it day or night?

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Why did they put the grate there (Field Notes)?

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Why did they put the grate there (Field Notes)?

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Standing at the edge of the rock on Stormy Point, looking down into the fissure. Why did they put the grate there? To stop people falling in? So why not the fissure too?
To stop things from coming... out? Ha! Right.

Two days later I stood right on top of that point to watch the sunset. About 10 minutes after it set I wasn't quite as cynical as I had been in daylight.

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It's daytime, and I'm walking back through the woods from the Beacon. I get lost - how is that possible in such a small, well-trodden, practically suburban place, full of dog-walkers? I feel embarrassed, but also unnerved - a strangely rapid onset of panic.
It's night time, and I'm on the Edge in near darkness, with one companion. I hear the sound of wheels rattling over the ground, and a shape emerges out of the gloom. It's a horse and cart, travelling directly towards us. For an instant, I'm terrified. I think I swear. Then the picture sharpens into focus. A family returning from a late evening picnic, pulling a wagon along behind them. I'm so embarrassed. How could my imagination make that slip?

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What can you hear? Night time near Stormy Point

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What can you hear? Night time near Stormy Point

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Wind rustling in the trees, louder than you'd expect.

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Bird Song (Perceptions of the Edge Workshop, July 2021)

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Bird Song (Perceptions of the Edge Workshop, July 2021)

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You may or may not remember this from the Weirdstone of Brisingamen, but Alan Garner puts a line in that one of the many strange things about the Edge is that you never hear birds singing or if you do, you only hear very few in proportion to the amount of woodland that there is. I took some friends up to the Edge on Saturday and they’d never visited the area before - they’re from the countryside in Montgomery – and the first thing they all said is, ‘Where are all the birds?’ There was virtually no birdsong and very few birds to see. I don’t know if that is a nature thing or a natural thing, but it has always struck me as being very odd. The woods should be full of birdsong but they never are.

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Now and Then (Invisible Worlds Website Response October 2021)

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Now and Then (Invisible Worlds Website Response October 2021)

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Not far from us the great dish of Jodrell Bank is gathering radiowaves from receding stars and distant galaxies. Dad had once told me this. Ancient data from light-years away from before the earth was made. Before stardust formed us. And in the rocks up high on the Edge are shells from an ancient seabed lifted above by tectonic shifts. Unfathomable.

And below the Edge the Wizard’s Well and the legend of the farmer and his horse and the sleeping knights, waiting. A different layer. Ancient memories embedded in local tales and stone.

This warp and weft of cosmic science and ancient folklore...

And inside the Edge we’re eating jam sandwiches

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From Castle Rock I can see the tops of trees, flat green fields and the towers of Manchester in the hazy distance, planes sliding in to the airport along the horizon.

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•Day or night?

•What location on the Edge?

•Close by or in the distance?

•Soundsheds

•Nature, archaeology, people...

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•Day or night?

•What location on the Edge?

•Above or below ground?

•Looking up or down?

•What's near to you, what's in the distance?

•Sightline

•Nature, archaeology, people...

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How do you express that feeling of floating in time, floating in a pocket a hundred metres squared in which everything and everyone who has ever stepped into this same pocket is also floating next to you/you next to them at the exact same time?