Swathes of moorland grit and heather, dusted in the rugged russet of a dry November day. Waning branches wave skeins of yellowing leaves, the slender keys to a kingdom of expanse that has been unlocked just for us. The cold clods of yesterday's earth still shelter inside the whorls of my fingertips; grainy tributaries that… Continue reading Keys to the kingdom.
An early morning walk, a Sunday; but to label the day detracts from the nondescript beauty of anonymity-cloaking fog. Engulfed in silence, enveloped with questions, engorged with the opportunity to simply escape. A lone tree stands black and bleak in contrast to the faded greens below and the grey whites that swirl behind its branches… Continue reading Fog: the nourishing metamorphosis
To ‘review’ Ness for other readers feels almost counter-intuitive to the unnerving beauty of Macfarlane and Donwood’s creation: a piece of art that is enchanting, alluring and deeply captivating; a personal and intimate experience between writer, artist and reader. Inspired by the bleak and ghostly shingle spit of Orford Ness, off the Suffolk coast, Ness… Continue reading Ness: a haunting journey into landscape
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
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
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