It rained the last two nights.
Reinterpreting the Trolley Problem
Life and death are mostly incomprehensible, though we often try to convince ourselves otherwise.
Tales from the Rubble Bank
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.
Betula Bones
The birches arrived a few weeks ago: two Betula albosinensis ‘Fascinations’ and two Betula utilis ‘Jacquemontiis’.
