NE63 Haiku

A New Season Awaits Where is the time going? The autumn equinox occurred on 23 September 2026 here in the UK, marking the beginning of autumn and the end of the “nice” British weather. To be fair, we have had an unusually good summer, with plenty of sunshine and very little rain. The lack of rain can be a concern, though, as it means hosepipe bans, lower reservoirs and reduced crops. Luckily, where I live, that's not too much of a concern. Got to love the North East weather! With autumn coming, it means darker mornings and evenings, which can put people in a downward mood. Myself included. Though there are things to enjoy about the new season. The changing colours of the leaves, with their hues of warm colours; the cosy nights in with loved ones; Harvest Festival; Halloween; kicking and walking on fresh, crispy fallen leaves. There's so much to enjoy about these darker couple of seasons. But how did we get here so soon? It only seems like yesterday I was taking Cooper out for h...

Slow moments passing Sunlight, sunset, darkness comes Duties for family

Hazy dreams slipping World turns, sun warm, life passing Night shift awaits now

Air foggy and cool Clock tick tock tick tocks slowly Tired bloated body There’s a strange stillness that comes with a first night shift. Not silence exactly—machines hum, footsteps echo, tasks keep stacking up—but something in the air feels paused, like the world outside has taken a breath and forgotten to let it go. Tonight, the fog has settled in thick and low. It wraps itself around everything, softening edges, muting distance. Even through the windows, you can feel it—cool, heavy, unmoving. It matches the way my mind feels. Not sharp, not clear. Just… there. It’s my first night shift, and time isn’t behaving the way it normally does. The work is steady, demanding even, yet the clock drags its feet. Each minute seems to stretch, as if it’s resisting being counted. Tick, tock. Tick… tock. The rhythm is there, but it feels off-beat, like it’s out of sync with everything else. My body isn’t helping much either. There’s a weight to it tonight. Bloated, sluggish, tired in that deep, quie...

Sky bleeds red to blue Light dancing on diamond frost Hands cold scrape windows After six days off, it was back to work this morning. The alarm came early and I was out of the door just after 6am, still adjusting to the idea of a workday again. The sky immediately made it worth stepping outside though — a stunning sunrise stretching across a clear morning sky , colours slowly shifting from deep red into blue. It had been warmer recently, so the cold came as a bit of a surprise. The car was covered in frost and the air had that sharp bite that wakes you up quickly. Scraping the windows wasn’t exactly how I wanted to start the morning, cold hands working over the glass while the engine warmed. But at the same time, the frost caught the sunrise perfectly, sparkling as the light hit it. One of those small moments where a little annoyance and a little beauty exist at the same time.

Night moves by slowly   Artificial lights hum softly   Solvents tickle nostrils Night shift has its own atmosphere. Time stretches differently under artificial light. The outside world sleeps, but inside the lab everything continues — machines humming, screens glowing, samples waiting. I felt flat tonight. Not dramatically low, just dulled around the edges. The tail end of a cold still clinging on, sleep not quite enough, energy never fully returning. The kind of tiredness that isn’t urgent but lingers quietly. The fluorescent lights hum without change. The smell of solvents hangs in the air, sharp enough to remind you that you’re awake, even if you don’t quite feel it. There’s something strange about working through the night while your body insists it should be somewhere else. This haiku came from that steady, muted space. Not a bad night. Not a good one. Just slow, measured hours under artificial light.

Sunlight evades me Days pass in half-sleeped shadow Spring waits at the door The world follows a steady rhythm of sun and stars, but for a shift worker, those lines often blur. Working 12-hour stretches in the lab means my relationship with daylight is complicated. In the winter months, I often head into a shift in the dark and emerge long after the sun has tucked itself away. It’s a strange, liminal existence—living in the gaps while the rest of the world is awake. I wrote this haiku to capture that heavy, quiet fatigue of the "in-between" There is a specific kind of exhaustion that comes with the night shift, a "half-sleeped shadow" where you’re physically present but your internal clock is searching for a sun it can't find. But as the weeks progress, I’m looking toward the threshold. "Spring waits at the door" is my reminder that the cycle is turning. I’m ready for the mornings where the sun beats me to the car, and the evenings where the light ling...

Wet stone and muddy Hours of relentless downpour  Tiredness taken it's toll The rain hasn’t really stopped for two days. Not showers, just a constant presence — wet stone, muddy paths, cold air that settles in and stays. I’m still fighting off a cold, and the last two shifts have been long ones. Twelve hours on, twice in a row. Sleep has come in short stretches — three hours one night, five and a half the next — just enough to function, not enough to feel restored. By the end of today, it all felt cumulative. The damp, the cold, the tiredness, the way the body keeps count even when you try not to. This haiku came at the close of the day, written from that place where you’re still upright, still moving, but feeling the weight of everything that’s passed through.

Black skies overhead Peaceful dreams, restless nightmares A winter cold holds Working nights has a way of blurring edges. Sleep comes in fragments, dreams don’t always agree on what they want to be. This week, a winter cold settled in too — the kind that doesn’t knock you flat, just lingers. Heavy head, restless body, warmth that never quite reaches where it’s needed. Lying there, listening to the dark, aware of the sky pressing down. Some nights are peaceful. Some aren’t. Most are a mixture of both. This haiku came out of that space — between rest and unrest, between waking and dreaming — held in place by the season.