Angela Readman

      Warkworth The pelt drags me across sand like a drown animal. I walk miles, eyes fixed on Birling Carrs, a lime light of seaweed and coal. Birds nesting in cliff face , a chorus stuck in a skull. I didn’t know what was here, buried by tides. I...

Jenny Hope

    On becoming a bee Choosing when was difficult. What time of year? Winter could get me five months or so, if you were lucky enough to make the cut, to be spent mostly in the hive. Bee Hygge? Honey-scented? I’m over romanticising. It’ll be clustered...