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Earrach Geamraidh: The Winter Spring by Kerri ní Dochartaigh
What we give in these days will be the things that we have been gathering up for many years.
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On Rathlin Island by Dara McAnulty
After dinner, song bursts from every corner of the sky and we stop to listen in the twilight.
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Running for the Trees by Suzanne Joinson
It seems to me that in these last days the trees have expanded. Their presence – always noble and impressive – has increased, deepened.
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Gutted Arcades by Jeff Young
And I’m walking with him. He’s still haunting the city after all these years, since he left the place and never returned.
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Interpreter of the Dream by Alex Woodcock
I was lying in bed, the room exactly the same. There was some light, suggesting morning, a sort of grey and translucent light.
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Ancient Hollow Grief by Kerri ní Dochartaigh
All is not lost. There is still time. We are still here, and we must remember that it is in the day to day living that we must change things…
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FOUNDLE by Tanya Shadrick, Jo Sweeting and Louisa Thomsen Brits
The chisel is held loosely in the hand so that it can strike the stone and transmit its voice through depth and out into air. A clear ring is heard which sings and resonates.
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Seeking the trees: a rewilding diary by Emily Warner
the deer are the engineers of the forest, they hold the key to its destiny, yet themselves rely upon it…
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What flows beneath: an interview with Tom Bolton
London is inexhaustible. It’s a place you can never truly get to the bottom of.
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Artefact: A footnote by Jo Sweeting
I have carved words every day for years: on the skin, into the body of stone.
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Learning a Stone by Beatrice Searle
I wait a few seconds and tap along the line again then pause to hear the sound emitted by the stone.
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Artefact: The Explosives Factory by Louise Kenward
The land holds their memory. His films remind me of times I hadn’t known and don’t remember.
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