Jan 2021 – Mudwriter

Wren

I’ve been sitting indoors, watching nothing in particular, isolated by my own unwillingness to go out. This is my bubble, double-glazed against sound, the rippling grey clouds that clothe the January sky, the chilling breeze that fingers the trees. The garden is a green waiting room. Not much is happening, except the marking of timeContinue reading “Wren”

Slugging It Out

I always feel a little self-conscious as I turn off the well-worn path around the four sides of the wood, I scuffle furtively through leaf litter, crouching down to examine fungi or pick apart a rotting log to see what might be hidden inside their damp, crumbling innards. This was how I found four smallContinue reading “Slugging It Out”