Dover. Southwest 4 to 6, increasing 7 or gale 8 for a time. Thundery showers. Moderate or good, occasionally poor. On Équihen-Plage, the wind angles north east across the beach. The tide is falling. Sand skitters, shimmers, bifurcates and deltas, rattles over the surface. Forming miniscule dunes against every obstacle. Seaweed becomes an embossed reliefContinue reading “Équihen Plage”
Category Archives: Nature writing
Blue Tit
Effortless gymnast Seeming weightless, upside-down Iridescent mouse
Winter to Spring
It’s raining as I set off on my walk. Not really wet, just a gentle drizzle. And it’s warmer than I expected, about 8 degrees Centigrade, so I revise my layers, ditching a warm layer for a waterproof one. It feels as if we are at an intersection between winter and spring today. I haveContinue reading “Winter to Spring”
Christmas Shopping
The shopping centre is busy, but not as frantic as you might expect on the last Saturday before Christmas. To me, not particularly drawn to crowds, it makes the experience less gruelling than expected; although I do turn tail when faced with a crowded Marks and Spencer’s food hall. I’m hungry and getting just aContinue reading “Christmas Shopping”
Swan Song
It’s one of the last sticky swan-song days of summer. In the shade of the trees, with the rippling water live-streaming reflections through the willow leaves, it feels as if the day could go on for ever. Only the tell-tale flecks of yellow betray a different story. A jazz-striped dragonfly helicopters past and long-tailed titsContinue reading “Swan Song”
Sunlight
Sunlight drifts On gossamer line Into autumn
Autumn
The first day of autumn, according to the calendar and to the Met Office. The dragonflies and faded butterflies will tell you that summer is still hanging on by a thread, but the cobwebs are frosted with dew in the mornings and there’s a cool wind blowing from the north. It takes more than oneContinue reading “Autumn”
Putnoe Wood
It’s a short walk past the deserted football fields where black-headed gulls search out washed up worms and scream their strangled yelps. At the gateway is an old oak, knobbly-elbowed, bare branches stretching across the path. I reach my arms around it, smelling the musty ridged bark and pressing my fingers into its fissures. Alone,Continue reading “Putnoe Wood”
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”
Mudwriter 