Today I make a slow start. The deep winter is here. January brings, at last, the space I've been longing for. 2017 stretches out ahead, silently for now. Illness has contributed to . . .
The maple tree, a present from my Dad, has always struggled with the prevailing south westerlies. Trees in Ireland are bent over towards the east, from gales blowing up from the . . .
It's late, the sun is filtering through the forest, pouring deep honey gold onto the path ahead. The quality and colour of light transforms everything. In the clearing a group of wise old trees stand . . .
What if you followed every inkling, hunch or hint at a possible good idea? If you stretched your legs out beyond your comfort zone? If you trusted that these inklings would become their own . . .
Did you ever wrap your arms around a felled giant and get up close and personal with it's roots and heart? The wooden body feels so strong, there are new buds on the tips of . . .