While you were sleeping The Plough cut a furrow across the field of night. Owls hooted and screeched in it’s wake Feasting on the shiny seeds of light that Orion cast from the pouch hitched to his rhinestone belt.

The owls were sated. Full of moles and torn up scraps of suede-skinned voles. Plucked from the ground in the dead of night by the white-winged warrior with the gift of flight. They didn’t hear the approach of death for the owl can murder with…

The snow was mostly gone. But it lingered in the tramlines where tractors had trodden two months earlier. Then the ground was sticky and the tyres left what, from this distance, looked like the parallel prints of a finger painting. We followed one of the…

Molecule by molecule the mountain is dismantled by the soft but irresistible rain. The beech tree has snagged a scrap of night in its boughs and is holding it hostage to the day. Black wool on a wire fence stirred by the wind but unable…

The tree tops are immersed in molten copper. Cast with the the horizontal rays of a dying sun. But the death of day breathes life into the night. And the blue black shadows, born short and shy in the seconds after midday, rush ever faster…