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The Narrow Orbit of Our Belonging

It is eight o’clock on a chill winter morning, and my son is browsing over a bowl of porridge in the kitchen. He has woken to snow on the skylight of his bedroom, and is keen to be out at first light,...

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Lions After Slumber

Up on the crags, the southwesterly wind can be felt more keenly, chilling the fingertips and ears. The morning’s sleet has left the limestone slicked with a dull sheen, the colour of tarnished pewter....

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Elegy

  There was a dead badger on the road this morning, sprawled across the white lines in the middle, its innards smeared across the tarmac. I watched the line of traffic on each side as it passed,...

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Water, Water Everywhere

Like one, that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turned round walks on, And turns no more his head; Because he knows, a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread....

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Messages from the North

I wake in the dawn and there are swallows and martins, stitching the sky, flickering black-and-white against the pearly blue of the morning, filling the chill air with their chitterings. Each day I...

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