Complicated feelings require woods.

I have become sufficiently practiced at sloughing off whatever thing is sitting on my shoulders for a while the second I get my first eyeful of whatever the woods want to show me that day, at least for the duration of the visit. Breathe. Blow it all away, grin, and step on along to see…

Wanderings

It was an odd day, but it got a lot better. There are some days when thoughts that ordinarily trickle through the humdrum domestic suddenly swell, careen, scour all before them down new paths thrown open with reckless abandon. Rather than give the torrents all their own way, and especially given an unexpected reason to…

Seasons turning

There are days when I wake up and almost immediately the brain starts to supply me with the list of all the things I haven’t done, all the ways in which it is displeased with me, all the shoulds and musts and have tos. I’ve been wading through a treacle soup of should have, could…

Be friends with the night, there is nothing to fear

If Dendrophobia is the fear of trees and Nyctohylophobia the fear of wooded areas at night it might be supposed that Dendrophilia and Nyctohylophilia are the love of trees and the love of forests at night respectively. My favourite time of the day is evening, heading for twilight. There is that sense of the world gathering…

Oaks of Charleville Forest

There has always been a tree in my life I considered *my* tree. My very earliest memory is of a swing, a plastic yellow swing seat tied with heavy-knotted rope onto an old but sturdy fruit tree. It is a dense sensory memory, full of prolific leaf on gnarly branch, lush grass and yellow, and…