What if our world could be whole again Complete Perfect Pure If oceans could unpollute Seas rise Streams trickle down perfect boggy moorland What if the swifts returned in their masses Next June Darting Looping In flight of ecstacy Overhead Find comfort in our small country again And what if we could prevent decline On land In sea and sky Nurture nature Regrow Those disappearing populations And what if skies could be full again Of skylarks Corn buntings And yellow hammers Fea

Beneath the woodless forests of Bowland where ancient coppiced hazels would bend to touch the moss, a silent architecture unfolds in the dark. Fungi don their velvet hoods; extending pale lifelines into gloom; acting as weavers of the forest floor and keepers of a common loom. While Oak and Ash stand proud above, they remain blind to the subterranean door the secret corridors that extend into the damp earth beneath A world where mycelium’s silken shroud connects the roo

It was the only way she could think of to escape her family for a day - just one day. She wasn't ungrateful. It had been an amazing holiday in a stunning place; but to spend all day, every day, for two weeks, with your parents and baby brother... well let’s just say that she was ready for a change; some adventure maybe. Her mum hadn't been happy when Alice had spotted the sign. "Absolutely not!” said her mum. “Scuba diving is dangerous; there are sharks out there!” She poin

I leave the house at early light as the sun yawns her way skywards Arising from behind the sleeping rump of Pendle towards a cloudless pink vanilla sky Only the stream is busy Even the birds sing gently as not to disturb those still slumbering Whilst the sheep have not yet lifted their bellies chewing their cud from sleepy posture As I walk, my shadow shortens and my ears and mind open pushing away all thoughts of daily chores Erasing the buzz of past and future I feel

From over the rise I hear her cries A deep and bellowing sound I halt to listen My eyes aglisten And head toward the mound A grunt and a groan Then a guttural moan A cow in labour found Takes long inhale Gives lengthy wail As she shifts her weight from ground She rises to stand And her eyes command my gaze as calf is crowned It tumbles fast To land on grass Its mother's joy newfound With rhythmic murmur Licks it clean Her message quite profound The bond is made Discomfort fa

Much maligned is Magpie bold her secrets stashed, your gossip told Unwanted tales of sorrows due And whether babes be pink or blue A pair for joy, a group for wealth But if you see one by herself Salute her, ask about her mate To ward away unwanted fate For superstition tells us tales All hid in history's shady veils The devil's blood beneath her tongue Reveals uncovered human song Her cry is harsh, she's no-one's fool Her chatter hints at ridicule But if your secret's hers

When I was a girl of just twenty My hair was abundant and plenty Admired by all To my waist it would fall Shades of chocolate swishing so gently When thirty and a mummy of three My hair not a pri - or - ity Often unwashed or sticky Though with care could feel silky Despite negligence - to a degree In my forties the world of work bade In a bun It remained - a decade! Although luscious when down Now a new kind of brown Shades of chestnut and tawny displayed In my fifties I've h

I awake with the dawn and lie, eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the morning: the slight rustle of the curtain responding to a breeze passing through the open window; the morning birdsong encouraging me to start my day; the distant lowing of cows in the fields. I am reluctant to move this morning though. I sense my neighbour leave for work, her key turning in the lock; hear children leaving to catch the school bus, their chatter eager and bright; and downstairs, my cat

What colour is beneath me? I’m told this Red Sea’s blue I don’t know what that means though I can’t see how it’s true For when I look beneath the waves With sunshine streaming through I see a rainbow wonderland Of ever-changing hue Above the reef, translucent An icy trick at play The shallows warm from winter sky Absorbing every ray Beneath, it still evades me Its plunging depths are blue Yet streaming shafts of teal and jade Would contradict that truth Shifting as th

I received a box; a long, flat, cardboard box, that made no sound at all when I shook it gently. There were no clues on the packaging. What could it be? Who was it from? The postman handed it to me, with a wink, and for some reason I was slightly offended - what did he think he knew, that I didn't? I delivered a curt thank you and then took the package inside, laying it on the table in front of me; not wanting to spoil the magic of not knowing. I looked at the box for a long

Clouds Like wisps of angels' breath Hurry across the blue Leaving behind Receding trails Of silver birds Destined for foreign shores Taking with them Memories Of an unscathed world The angels cry Their tears raining down On the parched land

Today is the leaf litter On the topsoil of time A rich humus to savour The latest interpretation Of an ancient world And the newest imagining Of a future, yet unknown Behold today The memories made Feel the sands of time Running slowly through your fingers Breathe in its promise Its fresh hope And embrace the possibilities Of a new day

Before the dawn has kissed the sky I tread where roaring furnace lies The morning's chill is left behind For fire consumes both flesh and mind The molten river glows like gold Yet burns the hands that dare to hold With breath I coax the shapeless flame Yet fragile forms bear not my name The master's clock allows no rest Its iron hands command my chest Ten hours, twelve, perhaps yet more Until my weary bones grow sore The furnace breathes a dragon's sigh With blistered heat th

A real-life story based on my first experience of a rugby league game in September 1978 I had waited so long! Years of watching my dad and uncle, nan and grandad disappear every Sunday afternoon—climbing into my grandad's old Triumph and driving down the road, scarves trailing from the rear windows, taunting me. I used to stand miserably, with my chin on the window ledge, refusing to move until the car was out of sight, the last of the exhaust fumes carried away on the wind

The Red Admiral does not wait inside a sealed chrysalis for spring to find her. Instead, she folds her bright wings beneath bark, inside ivy, in the quiet corners of sheds and hollow trees; becoming still, not gone. When winter loosens its cold hand for a single sunny day, she wakes, testing the air, drinking sweetness where she can find it, before returning to silence. Months pass. Then one morning, light lingers, the earth warms, and the butterfly opens her weathered wings

As with all good things - and Pilgrim walks in particular - The Golden Valley Pilgrim Way was longer in the talking and planning stage than in the actual doing; but despite that, it eventually turned out to be a lovely walk, taken in fortuitous spring sunshine amongst wonderful company. We had been talking about this walk with Tony's brother Jeff, and his wife Sue, for a couple of years and had loosely planned to take it on in April 2025. However, as is often the case, life g

Mist drifts in like fragrant gossamer veil on a breeze that's frail takes flight in silence a whispering vagrant with searching fingers and breath that lingers in resolute defiance Threads of pearl exposed as fleeting kiss what trick is this each timid frond embraced mountain edges in repose no apex seen no folds of green not even shadowy trace Ancient laurels remenisce boughs weighed down to skim the ground and then those strung out pearls become chains and hiss a brief down