A Return to the Fells
We are fell runners. Fells are rugged, plentiful and jagged. They are rolling mounds of impossibly old rock, smashed together with grass and heather. Fells are unique to the north of England. There are features unique to the fells, and words unique to the features. Becks, tarns, pikes, craggs – an unforgiving geo-language cut through with mile upon mile of flat lakes formed from glaciers. Th...
Hidden wilderness.
I live on the edge of a town, populated mostly from the 1950’s post war boom. Industry crowds every street and leaves ugly gray pebbledash in its wake. Just five minutes from the edge of my housing estate, lays a paradise only found in story books, classical literature and fairy tales. Damp, soft ground in every colour of brilliant mossy greens and Earthy browns. Mole hills errupt the uniform...
A Letter to the Mountain
I suppose it starts with me. A transcendent moment.A flitting pass of energy. Called. I was to flee the heights of teetering dark mounds.
I hear you ore. Your explicit tones of zephyr hurtling past my ears.I am coming.
An inception of feet, an endeavour to climb, all filled with bustle of kindred folk. Laces to tie.Backpacks set.Ailment a-ready.I feel you. The pull.
The quick dash past the bus...
I am bored of London, but I’m not bored of life.
Corona Virus. I hate to say it. I hate to start a story with those two words. It has taken so much from us, destroyed families, lives, jobs, everything. It has also made me think twice about how I am spending this summer. I don’t think I fit into the writers' stereotype very well: antisocial hours at a desk with a lit cigarette, a mostly empty bottle of gin and the dim glow of a laptop illumina...
Returning to the wild
Tears fall out from under my slow footsteps on the soft moss. Handprints of love on each passing barked tree. Sunlight pouring down and kissing me. Leaves of green, glistening in every shade any artist would fall into a dreamers spell. Calling birds break the silence and bekon you further into the wild. The slience is not silent, it is rythem, breath and beating of the earth beneath, around, wi...