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A Welcome from the White Cottage by Liz Williams
‘Wales was an old crush I couldn’t shake. The solitude of its remote coastlines; an oldness that boasted permanence’
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The painter’s chair / Attending by Fiona Sampson
like a new
thought or like
the curlew’s
call that
doublejoints
across the Sound![]()
Dent by Myna Trustram
lichen spatters hawthorn branches like paint on a studio floor.
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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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