Once upon a time they came in clouds
to dip and swivel over opened fields;
the spring wind, patched with sunlight,
and lapwings up above and all around –
a shimmer of iridescent green.
Now there are no more.
I hear their absence, waken in the early light
knowing they are gone and won’t return.… ....Read the rest
I don’t remember when I discovered Skype. All I do know is that I was in the depths of despair about seeing my little girl Willow who had gone back to the south of Germany with her mother. I was haunted by the fear I would lose touch with her completely, that things would become more and more distant until I hardly knew how to relate to her, or she to me.… ....Read the rest
I wrote a piece a couple of weeks ago concerning my newest novel ‘The Well of the North Wind’. But I’m aware that I didn’t include anything from it, and this time I want to do so. The strange thing is that the novel started out as a short story, and for a long time nothing more than that first part – the short story – was put onto paper.… ....Read the rest
All January the hills curved with perfect snow;
now this morning the grazed eyeball of a moon
rolls into blue silence. A sunlight,
frail and liquid, sluices all the fields.
A tattered huddle of a lamb
rends the day with sadness.… ....Read the rest