Planting, prose and photography: creative field notes from the garden and beyond.
It’s fair to say that humans are constantly searching for meaning. Some look for it in possessions, material objects, status; others in jobs, careers, relationships. But there’s a growing number of us seeking out meaning in the everyday and the everyday world around us. And on a balmy October Saturday in Nottingham, I found a… Continue reading Community & Connection: Shared Moments of Meaning
A few shots capturing the hues of change in a cold September garden.
Over at Creative Countryside, we all subscribe to the notion of living more slowly and in harmony with the seasons. And perhaps nothing encapsulates this more than gathering conkers in the autumn. This past week has been heavy, grey and atmospheric. Leaden skies of slate grey have set in with a resolute stoicism matched only… Continue reading Conkers, Fatherhood and a Speckled Wood
This is perhaps the first time in living memory that I have truly craved rain. I’m not talking about a half-hearted desire for precipitation, but an ardent anticipation for rainfall; something that has built slowly and steadily over the last few weeks. A genuine groundswell of feeling within, that something is amiss, not quite right:… Continue reading The Silent Symphony of Rain
To label it a 'riot' of colour would convey too proud a sentiment: the garden's delicate declarations of spring are quietly vocal, but no less a statement for their subtlety. Photos taken on Saturday 21st April 2018.
I sit at the end of the garden and bask in the early hours of the day, alive with a frenetic energy, yet simultaneously calming. The cool breeze is respite for the soul, as well as the body, and I embrace and enjoy the cool sensation of the early morning air across my arms and… Continue reading Falling twigs and golden light: field notes from the garden, 20-22.04.18
The April dusk is heavy with air, thick with atmosphere, and laden with thoughts. A storm is most certainly brewing, but that heady brew is charged with an electricity that lends magic both to the evening, and the soul. The changing of the clocks has bequeathed the gift of encroaching light to the evenings once… Continue reading A charged dusk and beating bat’s wings: field notes from the garden 06.04.18
Today contained a period of very special moments: that rare occasion when the universe stitches a few hours together with a thread made from infinity herself; an afternoon where eyes could feast upon the unfathomable richness of the purest azure sky. Heaven and earth pulsed achingly close to one another, as Nature dropped one of… Continue reading A dropped veil and a February epiphany.
There’s a new sense of life in the garden today; discernibly so. I had toyed with writing ‘perceptibly so’ but thought that ‘perception’ implied somewhat of an effort, or a concerted focus – and that would betray the ease in which nature is making itself visible, heard and felt on this February Sunday morning. Before… Continue reading A dancing starling and buds of promise: field notes from the garden 18.02.18
I challenge anyone to find something humbler, and yet containing more untold majesty, promise and beauty, than the unassuming seed packet. A rudimentary paper packaging, containing the tiniest of morsels, these kernels of truth are bursting to tell their story in full, technicolour glory. The fact that snowdrops, iris and crocus are now punctuating the… Continue reading The Great British Seed Off
