Loading cart contents...
Author / Jon Woolcott
-
![]()
The Seven Mile Straight by Carrie Rhys-Davies
I am forty two years old and it’s a vividly hot afternoon early in September 2021.
-
![]()
Seasonal Rituals by Philip Strange
These late autumn starling displays have also become, for me, part of the seasonal rituals of Cogden Beach
-
![]()
Knife by Sarah-Jane Dobner
Bend down and pinch a ripple of skin. It’s warm and springy, taut to the body.
-
![]()
Wool, a short essay by Amelia Hodsdon
Once upon a time, sheep in the fields here, in their sheepcots on the wolds, were the source of fortunes.
-
![]()
Solastalgia Flights by Julia Brigdale
Our childhoods were a lie I now see, our memories, skewed. And therein lies the problem.
-
![]()
Threads, a community poem
Red, it’s my colour,
the cuffs rippling in the wind,
Hung lazily off an arm.
-
![]()
Eisteddfod! And the Welsh Language Landscape by Julie Brominicks
The bus had cruised north, Y Rhinogydd crisply defined. We collected a musician sucking vodka through a straw at Porthmadog
-
![]()
Searching for Life in a Burial Chamber by Elizabeth Black
I felt buoyed by its energy as I descended towards the village and saw Silbury Hill appear singularly in the distance.
-
![]()
Robin Walter reads Arbor Vitae
Robin Walter reads his poem Arbor Vitae.
-
![]()
On Rain and Washing by Rebecca Smith
I was interested in the men who built this incredible feat of engineering, and the families they brought with them.
-
![]()
A Symphony of Ancient Trees by Laura Parker
The trees that remained had recently witnessed revelries wild enough to rival any modern music festival.
-
![]()
The Yellow Bittern by David Higgins
Bitterns are easier to hear than to see. What tends to be heard, though, is not their ‘cry / In the wild sky’, but the male’s remarkable booming call emerging from reedbeds in the breeding season.
Loading posts...
You May Also Like
Mono by Laura ParkerIn midsummer we march between the stiffly regimented wheat across a level horizon. […]
Trophies by Graham MortSwifts have been returning to the village for centuries. […]
Calling Time by David Hinchliffe Bradford...he would dote on his beloved species and take up arms against others. […]