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,...
View ArticleLions 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....
View ArticleElegy
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,...
View ArticleWater, 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....
View ArticleMessages 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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