markle
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My stories
Summer on Port Meadow
The river ran a ring of ice around my ankles as I stepped out of the thick air and onto the spiky soil of the riverbed. On the far side, the plane of...
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- 1172 reads
Badger in the Light
It’s like a lamp in the dark field. Not an electric bulb, but a silver flame, always changing shape, pulsing and shifting. But the source of light –...
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- 680 reads
Opinions on Pigeons
Until recently I never had much time for woodpigeons. They always seemed quite puddingy, birds that galumphed and little else. Once, in the garden, I...
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- 1143 reads
Deer in the Garden
It was as though a brushful of red-brown paint had been dropped on the grass. Then, as it moved in the winter sunlight its shape resolved, and it...
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- 980 reads
Heron Haunting
Mist on water always makes me feel pursued. Crossing Iffley Meadows during a chill sunset, I never stop glancing toward the river, where silvery...
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- 876 reads