Pathways open to sweeping landscapes that were once hidden. We become masters of the land around us – for the first time seeing and understanding its contours – its rise and fall, the v…

Pathways open to sweeping landscapes that were once hidden. We become masters of the land around us - for the first time seeing and understanding its contours - its rise and fall, the very bones and essence of its form. In this new light, the naked terrain of winter makes us feel the landscape viscerally, with a fresh and stark magnificence…

Beyond the trees, the land opens out, untamed and barren - tussocks of long grass the only relief to open plains of waterlogged ground. The wind travels unhindered across these flat moors, insisting on its wildness with every breath...

Dry stone walls ramble, reassuringly ancient, over the bare winter mountain, accentuating its stark seasonal architecture. They are innocuous but immovable, like tenacious bones of history - holding the landscape together.

As we sit, we soak in the melodic interludes of song, accompanied by the ethereal swish of the wind through bare winter branches. You can smell the rain in the air, the damp chill freshness, combin…

Our engagements are no longer being led by our base feelings, instincts, or preferences, and even they themselves are being perpetually modified by what is fed to us. Re-curated each day by the end…

Our engagements are no longer being led by our base feelings, instincts, or preferences, and even they themselves are being perpetually modified by what is fed to us. Re-curated each day by the endlessly morphing algorithms of our life feeds. The continued availability of communication, distraction, entertainment, also means there are no mental spaces left to fill. For our minds to wander, for organic thoughts to enter our brains, flourish, or bloom...

Winter opens such different vistas - landscapes once obscured, appear in different scale and detail, birds otherwise hidden amidst green canopies become suddenly and joyfully visible... On the forest side of the road, further evidence of autumn's resolution not to be forgotten, a sheltered tree clinging to its crop of bronzed leaves, the warm russet of the bracken like a woodland blanket against the icy air...

The dark invites us to fold inwards, to give ourselves time and grace for recovery and reflection, hunkered sleepily in a warm moment before the axis turns again. But January also holds a mystical …

The dark invites us to fold inwards, to give ourselves time and grace for recovery and reflection, hunkered sleepily in a warm moment before the axis turns again. But January also holds a mystical …

The dark invites us to fold inwards, to give ourselves time and grace for recovery and reflection, hunkered sleepily in a warm moment before the axis turns again. But January also holds a mystical …

The turning of the year is a crux, a mental turnstile…nature’s inertia pulls us to look inwards, allow ourselves acceptance, reflection, inspiration, from the stripped bare world…

The turning of the year is a crux, a mental turnstile...nature's inertia pulls us to look inwards, allow ourselves acceptance, reflection, inspiration, from the stripped bare world...

The turning of the year is a crux, a mental turnstile...nature's inertia pulls us to look inwards, allow ourselves acceptance, reflection, inspiration, from the stripped bare world...

To anyone else sitting amongst the Blackpool illuminations while every neighbour’s windowsill now displays a single well- polished bonsai tree: I see you….and I salute you.