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Author / Jon Woolcott
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TREE: Living Near Woods by Gill Horitz
When words were no longer on the tip of my mother’s tongue one of the first to go was ‘tree’.
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TREE: Sometimes a Moon by Jane Routh
The summer view of the hills is filtered through its green leaflets, just beginning to yellow as I write this at the beginning of October.
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TREE: Life Cycle by Ruth Bradshaw
The amorphous, anonymous mass of tangled greenery that I have too often ignored on previous visits to the woods begins to take on a new significance.
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Walking with the moors by Ella Taylor
I wade into the unknown water, cautious not to make any sudden movements.
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How to Paint a Ditch by Hugh Dunford Wood
We all pass through, for a Holloway is not quite of this world.
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Shap to Plumgarths by David Banning
a song scattering a trail of columns and façades throughout the north of England.
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Chorus by James Roberts
A pink-headed fruit dove has just opened its eyes and uttered a soft, almost inaudible hoo.
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Flower Grace by Philip Strange
I saw the grace of the butterfly and how, in turn, it lends this grace to the flower.
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Dear White West Country People by Louisa Adjoa Parker
We’ve watched the same cattle, heads bent to the grass
Stood by the same sea, that sheet of blue glass -
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You Came To Me by Autumn Richardson
I feel you as a current
as dark, as sinuous, as
a cormorant slipping through
the belly of the sea -
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Jeff Young reading from Ghost Town
This is where nana, Queen of Red Rock Street, sat at the kitchen table, spooning sugar into glasses of lemonade to take away the fizz.
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This Wall by Sarah Hymas
Unlike a footprint on the moon, deep as the day it was made, the tracks made during the lighthouse repair are sluiced slowly by tides.
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