‘Spending the first half of my life in the Chilterns, in southern England’s chalk country, I grew up with yews.’
Spending the first half of my life in the Chilterns, in southern England’s chalk country, I grew up with yews. Not churchyard trees, but the bristly, mahogany-trunked nonconformists of the downs and beechwoods. They hunch among the grey-trunked beeches like dark Jack-in-the-Greens. Their seedlings…
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‘The anglophone world, we have to infer, has run out of words for its own feelings.’
Daisy Hildyard on the wisdom of scarecrows.
‘What is the read receipt for?’
Lillian Fishman on texting, power and the ethics of leaving a friend on read.
‘Like pretty much everyone who uses the internet, I have seen many terrible things that I did not search for and that I cannot unsee.’
Rosanna McLaughlin on what the internet thinks she wants.
‘I have a pathological addiction to the internet, which I indulge with the excuse of making art. It rarely translates to anything good and mostly leaves me overstimulated and afraid.’
Paul Dalla Rosa on excess and the internet.
‘rumors of bees on speedwell, / no oxidative stress just / effortless pollination’
Two poems by Sylvia Legris.
‘It’s always been like this for me with spirituality. I catch a whiff of the numinous, and it turns visceral in a moment.’
‘We claimed the places that were theirs and they were forced to take refuge on what we left behind.’
An excerpt from In Search of One Last Song.
‘Does it make you a little ghostly yourself, when what’s gone is more present for you than what’s here?’
‘We’ve always been entwined in life and in death with other creatures, although often too much time has elapsed to be able to interpret with any certainty what some of these symbols and artefacts mean.’
‘The train wheels, now authorized to take up their song of distance, clacked and clattered their traditional shanty of miles.’
