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Category / Essay / The Clearing
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Remembrance to the boar by Chloe Broadfield
My identity, as much as theirs, is entangled with the mountain rock and the wild thyme, the ibex and the boar.
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Lincolnshire Voices: a photographic coda by Neil Sentance
Now there was a general air of dereliction, as if the mellowed bricks knew they’d soon be demolished to red dust.
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Extracts from a Nature Journal by Alex Boon
The heath full of leggy looking foxgloves coming to their end.
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Where the river flows out to the sea by Patrick Limb
But sometimes, somehow, places are in your bones.
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The Water’s Question / The Wind’s Answer by Phil Cope
This was the time of the fiction of early promises. The uncomfortable compromise between the necessities of finding paid work and of safety.
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Nature Doesn’t Always Taste Good by Peter Wohlleben
the majority of the meals our ancestors ate tasted completely different from the meals we eat today.
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Something of the Marvellous by Andrew Pastor and Patricia Barrett
Waves ebbing over shingle, breaking over rocks, swirling around reefs – all here inland.
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Meditative Rhythm by Ed Kluz
the line between landscape and architecture becomes blurred, and a view of the farmhouse as a living organism emerges.
![The Peace Pledge Union camp at Swanwick in 1937]()
Bread Salted with Tears by Ken Worpole
‘farming is not only work, but the witnessing of a great mystery, the mystery of birth and growth.’
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GRIEF, PLACE, LANDSCAPE: For Sarah by Peony Gent
I actively thought nothing about the Fens until a long time after I left them. They were a place I only grew to see when they became coloured with the contrast of living elsewhere.
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GRIEF, PLACE, LANDSCAPE – A contradiction of sorts by Marie Smith
I knew no-one but I enjoyed myself nevertheless; I met people in bars, managed to negotiate the city with tips from social media. I seemed to be carrying myself on an adventurous spirit that I never knew I had.
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GRIEF, PLACE, LANDSCAPE – She Exhales by Maxim Peter Griffin
you could buy a bungalow under the sea wall for buttons – she used to bring the kids here – they used to go up Jackson’s and pour coppers in the slots
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