The rubble bank is exactly that: a peculiar, linear, broken brick and excavated, relocated dirt mound at the top of our garden.
Turning Autumn Leaves
The clocks had already circled backwards when I took shelter in the passageway beside the second hand book shop.
A Rainy Intermission
In the pursuit of pretty, there are two kinds of gardener who wilfully apportion several weekend evening hours to hosing down their lawn, in a heavy storm, on the darker side of dusk.
Corner to Corner
The garden as we first viewed it, in the estate agent’s particulars, had two obvious and immediate selling points: its wide open size and its impressive woodland backdrop.
On Journaling and Word Rambling
Personal narratives are something we all construct, even if we choose not to share them.
Writing a Rock Garden
It’s approaching three months since I last wrote anything in my gardening journal. Since I last wrote anything at all.
Water and Words on a Wet Wednesday
The novelty of alliteration, discovered in childhood (a time that often seems like a million years ago to me now) never really faded.
