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Category / Essay / Poetry / The Clearing
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The Eternal Roar of the Dragon by Andreas Kornevall
This dark reptile, which we still see in storms, lightning and seething whirlpools, rises to the heavens or sinks to the roots of the Tree of Life.
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Transformation as Homecoming by Charles Foster
Alex was a merchant banker. One weekend, egged on by a new girlfriend who, bafflingly, had refused to sleep with him, he went off to a country house in the English Home Counties.
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My Plan by Paul Kingsnorth
I’m a writer, and to me this has always been a calling, a duty. It’s always been my guiding light, my personal mythology.
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Beyond by Peter Reason and Sarah Gillespie
I cannot go to bed while the world is full of such haunting beauty, this twilight poised between day and night.
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Good Person by Melissa Harrison
I am a good person. I watched Blue Planet II and I agree with Extinction Rebellion.
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Iceland’s Green Mantle by Nancy Campbell
On that visit I learned that weather makes it perilous to explore the mountainous Tröllskagi region in winter.
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Birdsong by Jay Griffiths
If I offered my notation, birds seem to sing the names of composers (particularly Russian) – Straviiinski, Straviiinski, or Tchaíkovski, Tchaíkovski, Tchaí! Sometimes chirping Tippett, Tippett, Tippett then calling low and sweet Keeats, Keeats, Keeats.
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Iain Sinclair on The Unofficial Countryside
The Unofficial Countryside is a proper reckoning, the Doomsday Book of a topography too fascinating to be left alone.
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The Cottage in the Weald: Walter Murray and Copsford by Tom Wareham
For nine months he lived there alone, gradually becoming more and more absorbed into nature and the landscape.
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Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall on the Fat of the Land
For all these reasons, John Seymour’s is a voice that still needs to be heard, and a voice that can change lives, including perhaps yours.
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Shelter from the storm – remembering W. S. Merwin by Michael Malay
In this time of uncertain weather and relentless loss, to plant trees can be a radical act.
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Turtle Dove by Chris Baker
We sang Turtle Dove inside Copsale Hall, a corrugated iron-beauty surrounded by trees, erected the same year Williams collected the song.
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