MY WORDMILL

The garden stillness beckons me at night: A grassy shoreline, rain-soaked moss on stone; Wood pigeons call, a bat’s wing teases light,...

Leaving the blue house, I turn back to the gaze of Welsh hills, grey sea; sand grass and sea holly wave at me. Swans fly low and settle...

Down on hands and knees, like prayer, she kneels before each plant, feels its root. Digs out shoots of shepherd’s purse; plucks white...

You remembered the visit to Nab Wood on Sunday – Father Kieran coming to bless the graves. You’d gone with Annie, in bitter November...

­­September’s light falls differently on the kitchen floor. Red leaves hang like grace notes at the window, trailing spools of silver,...

Driving slow through snowfall, unfamiliar gears, roads; the forecast is blizzard; morning light spills from the moon. We move through...