St. Mary’s Dymock
A bell tolls. Its sound rolls across the village: slow, deliberate, resonant, as though each stroke is being rung not … Continue reading St. Mary’s Dymock
Tag: Travel
Strange Faces
The dome of Herefordshire sky above Kilpec is so wide and blue it seems like a theatre backdrop, flecked with … Continue reading Strange Faces
The Bridge at Crickhowell
This is a statement in stone, a survivor of centuries, a spine across the river, carrying the memory of hooves and wheels, boots and bare feet. Continue reading The Bridge at Crickhowell
The Ruins of Llanthony
The priory appears suddenly—half in ruin, half in shadow—as though it has risen from the earth itself. The surrounding hills form a vast amphitheatre, each ridge and fold reflecting the broken symmetry of the priory’s arches and towers. These aren’t just hills; they’re a congregation. And Llanthony stands at their centre, the altar to a forgotten order. Continue reading The Ruins of Llanthony
The London Village
And everywhere, there’s the sense that this is its own place: not just a neighbourhood of London, but a village that happens to have been swallowed up by the city. Notting Hill doesn’t feel like part of the capital. It feels like a walled garden. A stage set. A place apart. Continue reading The London Village
The Walls of Raglan
Deep within the walls of Raglan Castle, I climb the spiral stairs to the top of the keep. My footfalls … Continue reading The Walls of Raglan
The Sacred and Profane
In another room, I find The Adoration of the Shepherds. It’s different. More personal. The brushstrokes are slower, more honest. Murillo is no longer copying prints. He is creating. As a former shepherd myself, I recognise the men he paints: weary, awed, practical, resourceful. Continue reading The Sacred and Profane
Stone and Sky
The railing is old, but sturdy. I lean on it and take in the view, swept by a mix of awe and vertigo. The wind up here feels purer, less of the earth and more of the sky. It tugs gently at the dry grass growing from cracks in the stone dome beside me, as though even the weeds want a view. Continue reading Stone and Sky
She Has Done Everything
I sit alone in a church in Ronda. The carved wooden pew beneath me creaks quietly as I shift my … Continue reading She Has Done Everything
The Witness Tree
The sycamore stands like a sentinel. Its great limbs stretch outward, heavy with leaves, each one etched with veins like … Continue reading The Witness Tree
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