Journal

Journal

Not all harvests are ours to reap

With a vague memory of a holly bush, I set out into a snow covered moorland. From the village, I walked along the track until the first bridge where I left the track to follow the head of the Meavy River. The ground was unfrozen beneath my feet. Sliding down

Journal

Repetition

Walking south down the track, and a little past South Hessary, I once again missed seeing a small bird take off from a patch of wet ground. I’ve been trying to identify it for months. I always seem to be looking away when it’s on the ground or

Journal

Having the Gall

I opened the box to reveal a small collection of galls. They’re about the size of a large marble, round, and mostly brown. Nearly all of them have a perfectly circular hole, 2mm across and black in appearance. They look into the depth of the gall, and show the

Journal

Chasing the Berries

Climbing down from the path, I realised I'd worn the wrong shoes. Too old, too little grip, and entirely not enough support. Sitting down on my bum, I inched my way into the old tin mining gully. I picked the spot that was also full of gorse bushes.