Writings

I recently signed up on the Emergence Magazine’s Nature Writing course, as a means of honing my writing, connecting and sharing with others. Here are my humble beginnings at Nature writings, shaped by prompts and exercise set

Bowland

The cycle route meandered and threaded a way through lanes, towards Bowland fells. With each turn and twist, the fells, Parlick, Fairsnape, Hazelhurst, moved through, in and with the woven light. An ever-changing interplay of green. Sometimes hiding, brooding, dominating, their size growing then shrinking, moving distant then near.

Here, keenly aware of sense of place, with roots digging down, through place names that have folded stories into the landscape, some familiar, rigg and mill, some unknown, viking, nargh and snape.

Drawn up Rigg lane, the beech and birch welcome, fresh young leaves fluttering in the sunlight, in the warm wind. Warm for early May. Our route contours, passing in and out sunlight searching through conifers. Snatches of distant views to the coast through dark understory, conjure hints of far away fir-lined lochs.

What torches have been lit on the Beacon over time and space, what torches are soon to burn? The fell, normally a honey hub of traffic and walkers, deserted, now the domain of buzzards, deer, song bird, asking why humans have withdrawn.

We descend into North Nook. Freewheel flying, the mind drifts with odd thoughts for theses odd times, of before and what lies on the other side of the corona portal. For now the earth is renewed, loving us still, we are feeling the delight, the gift of nature, fresh air, calm and time to be, a preview, granted us of what can be.

Place

Sit, Still, Place, Depth, Wind, Hear, Curlew, Flight, Home.

Bowland

The cycle route meandered and threaded a way through lanes, towards Bowland fells. With each turn and twist, the fells, Parlick, Fairsnape, Hazelhurst, moved through, in and with the woven light. An ever-changing interplay of green. Sometimes hiding, brooding, dominating, their size growing then shrinking, moving distant then near.

Here, keenly aware of sense of place, with roots digging down, through place names that have folded stories into the landscape, some familiar, rigg and mill, some unknown, viking, nargh and snape.

Drawn up Rigg lane, the beech and birch welcome, fresh young leaves fluttering in the sunlight, in the warm wind. Warm for early May. Our route contours, passing in and out sunlight searching through conifers. Snatches of distant views to the coast through dark understory, conjure hints of far away fir-lined lochs.

What torches have been lit on the Beacon over time and space, what torches are soon to burn? The fell, normally a honey hub of traffic and walkers, deserted, now the domain of buzzards, deer, song bird, asking why humans have withdrawn.

We descend into North Nook. Freewheel flying, the mind drifts with odd thoughts for theses odd times, of before and what lies on the other side of the corona portal. For now the earth is renewed, loving us still, we are feeling the delight, the gift of nature, fresh air, calm and time to be, a preview, granted us of what can be.