wild garlic & woodsmoke

I spent my early years on the edge of Dartmoor’s wilderness: the high, desolate moor, in summer dressed with a trimming of golden coconut-scented gorse. A ruined castle was my playground, ice-cold streams my paddling pool. As a small child I ran through steep woodland where the ancient hollow trees housed -I felt quite sure

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Why I write

I’ve been thinking about why I write. Almost a decade after I started blogging, I find myself wondering why I still show up in this space and commit my words to the screen, sending them out into the ether. I suppose I’m guided by E.M. Forster’s ‘only connect’, and the hope that my words will

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the magic of snow

The children went to bed disappointed. The weather forecast had promised snow, but the sky, leaden though it was, did not deliver. As they slept even my hopes were fading, but flakes began to swirl around the streetlight outside the window. We fell asleep with a dusting and woke up to a blanket, its arrival

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the power of small stories

I believe in the power of small stories. In this ever-connected social media world, we peek into people’s lives from the outside, with the focus on their red-letter days: the life-changing events, the adventurous trips, the thrilling announcements. It’s oh so easy to compare our stories and find ourselves wanting, to feel that our lives

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