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Category / Essay / The Clearing
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Mama, en route by Coco Lone Neal
When I was eleven years old, for four days my father and I walked and camped, naming the places we passed.
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Under Scythe-like Wings by Ian Grosz
…in its ageless song we felt Orkney’s long-absent presences.
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Brute Force with Art by Laura Parker
Working away quietly, the voles and mice would play about him, the curlews, peewits and crows ‘take him for granted.’
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The Bungalow by Ken Worpole
Grandma Elvin was always in demand as a fortune-teller, as well as being accomplished in other psychic gifts.
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Gulls Dreaming by Ann Lingard
She spreads her wings, tilting them to capture the full power of the lift.
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Wild Twin by Jeff Young, an extract
It’s seven o’clock on a Monday morning in March, sometime in the 1970s, and I’m not going to work.
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Hardy’s Knuckles by Estelle Phillips
Made from silica rich seawater squeezed out of plankton, flint formed in gaps between compacted chalk.
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The Machinery of a Hare by Tim Hannigan
I’ve seen plenty of hares since, but the sense of the uncanny at each encounter has never entirely faded.
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A Year of Cows by S. V. Morgan (Part Two)
When they are a little older, they respond in kind and groom their mothers, sometimes other cows too.
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Return to the Banyan Tree by Chandra Ganguly
Some friends of mine here in the West seem to make do. They make South Indian filter coffee at home, they grind rice and dal and make dosas and idlis.
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Summer Bells and Rain by Virginia Astley
The trees are moving in a strange way, like pantomime trees with actors in them who, at any minute, might leave and head across to somewhere else.
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Rebecca and the many Ghosts of Menabilly by Gemma Elise
With my parents and my grandparents, we played French cricket and pétanque and frisbee.
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