The boy on the beach with the patch eyed dog sees the boats come in in ballast …
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… the double row of stones marches stubbornly towards the sun. Why was it necessary in Neolithic times to determine the westerly direction? And if it mattere...
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Oh so very long ago when the lowlands were forested and full of wolves, when there was still no word for blue, a woman stepped out on the moor for the first time a...
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Stones, stacked or solitary, are the bones of our histories breaking the swell of land as we wade through, reminding us of something deeper than we see. We can t...
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No cuckoo. No bluebells. Just a newborn foal. We know it’s newborn, as its mother still has the afterbirth dangling. We know it’s newborn as it still has a wobble ...
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Let yourself be pixie led through the mist along the leat which flows upstream as if by magic, through the dried out gorse scorched by Spring drought, on to the...
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