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The poet Ian McMillan is very fond of early morning strolls, and often posts intriguing snippets on Twitter, of the things he observes while out walking. Reading these tweets, you get the impression that the world has altered ever so slightly. Snails slither towards discarded beer cans, eagerly anticipating a party that is still days
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We prowled the Taiga, a ghostly light, green and ephemeral dancing across the sky. Beautiful. Haunting us. Like a howl at the moon. And with it, the air changed as the light shifted something. We feel it, the tingle of it. A little snap as it twitches through our spines. Perhaps it is also this
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SHAPE SHIFTER For Jo Bell As a child, you did not understand how I could also be a solid. That in winter, you could hold in your hand an ice cold shard. You tried to remember me in summer, how I had flowed then like a river, sunlight glancing off the surface as you swam
