John McKeown

      In Rut Eaten alive, being me I step into the street Where November leaves are falling. The air is fine, the clear sky As finely brittle; the aroma of late decay A delicate call to loving. Shed of worries I tread the cobblestones with antlers...

Andrew Pidoux

      The Cyclist’s Breed of Freedom Cycling the five miles to work under the blue sky of something like summer, I see hundreds of cars going past me in a blur of metal and memory. The garden greens and reds of the traffic lights hush me over and under...

Jenny Robb

      Everything You Need to Know about Australian Magpie Swooping Season Protecting your baby is natural – and it’s the same for magpies. The black and white swoop loosens her grip. Here’s how to avoid their protective swoop. She drops her baby....

Jenny Hockey

      Damp after Christmas    and us on the bench with a downhill view of the back of our house, the running curve of the street, us with a view of windows, the windows we stand behind, tracking the passage of prams, of people with tools for allotments,...