previously published on ian.mulder.clara.net on 5th October 2002 Magic is always available, to everyone. It is made manifest through repetition. First you have to be able to perceive something, a glimmer of something special, in something—whether an object, a place, an event or a person. Then you have to come back and find it again.… Continue reading A Magical Place
Category: wayfaring
The Spell of the Sensuous
I last wrote about this book exactly 14 years ago. I started reading it again recently, leaving a bookmark on page 38, where it speaks of the felt contrast between "subjective" and "objective". Objective reality, the realm of orthodox science "was, according to Husserl, a theoretical construction, an unwarranted idealization of intersubjective experience." The "real… Continue reading The Spell of the Sensuous
It just so happened…
...'Twas but a trick o' the light... Shakespeare? That ever-present Artificially Intelligent AI had nothing useful to say about the origins of this saying so I hereby claim it as my own. It was the brilliant sunshine that blinded the driver, as he admitted. The accident happened where Bassetsbury Lane meets London Road. Remember we… Continue reading It just so happened…
No Man is an Island…
...keep 2 metres apart! This piece was written on March 29th 2020, but never till now published here. Spookily, I discovered it when the world's largest island becomes world news* No man is an Iland, intire of itselfe; every man is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine; if a Clod bee… Continue reading No Man is an Island…
Around the neighbourhood
Originally published 9 years ago. Much has changed since then, including my writing style, no longer so quaint or twee, I hope. Why take such pains concealing the fact that Karleen and I live in High Wycombe, Bucks? (there's another High Wycombe in Perth, Australia—the town where I was born). I shall take you on… Continue reading Around the neighbourhood
Unblocking
Rescued from oblivion today I’ve been glad of the chance to edit some of Ghetufool’s work lately. Writing is something I’m driven to by an impulse that won’t be denied. So what to do when writer’s block strikes? Turn to religion, I suppose, as people do when they feel vulnerable and melancholy. A fellow-blogger* distinguishes… Continue reading Unblocking
Pilgrimage to St Cuthbert’s . . .
. . . Spiritual Homes, December 2024 I had been quite apprehensive about this trip as I was worried about my own personal excitability and spontaneous way of being — a concern/question as to how I could both be myself as well as act in an appropriate way in respect of my fellow pilgrim travellers,… Continue reading Pilgrimage to St Cuthbert’s . . .
The Grand Scheme of Things
Of all the wayfaring experiences recorded in a blog, this was the most wonderful. I was able to capture moment-to-moment feelings on my voice recorder, as transcribed below, Originally published in August 2010 on perpetual-lab.blogspot.com, which no longer exists. Fortunately I found a perfect copy to enjoy and share today (I’m on a section of… Continue reading The Grand Scheme of Things
The Charabanc of Trippers
previously published 13th May 2014 on Perpetual-Lab, somehow lost in transit I didn’t explain what happened to the book Wayfaring, which was briefly published under Creative Commons in pdf, before being withdrawn from free distribution. I feel no compulsion to give a reason, but here are two. (a) Uncertainty (b) a decision to postpone publication… Continue reading The Charabanc of Trippers
Living in High Wycombe
Wycombe is a great place to live if you don't drive. No traffic jams or parking problems. If you live in Abercromby Road, for example, it's a short walk along Desborough Road to the town centre, with its Eden shopping Mall, library, Hospital. If you are disabled, there are many facilities, including https://www.shopmobilityhighwycombe.co.uk/ You'll pass… Continue reading Living in High Wycombe
Eagle Flew Out Of the Night
Waking up at 3 am, I find a song playing endlessly in my head. Not just the tune, but some of the words too. It's one of the most extraordinary popular songs, more potent than anything by Bob Dylan or Leonard Cohen. Peter Gabriel has his own explanation for how it hatched in his mind… Continue reading Eagle Flew Out Of the Night
The Book of Margery Kempe
Margery Kempe was a bloody-minded woman, living in a time when England was still Catholic. Bishops, priests and friars held worldly and spiritual power. bloody-minded: Chiefly Brit. Perverse, contrary; cantankerous; stubbornly intransigent or obstructive. Cf. bloody adj. OED She came from the provinces, had no education and bore 14 children to a husband socially beneath… Continue reading The Book of Margery Kempe
Hilltop reverie
I went up the hill, the one at left with the rainbow. That’s how I view it from my study window, which I’ve outlined in black in the righthand picture; which in turn was photographed from the grassy slope outlined in black on the left. It’s certainly a town for lifting up one’s eyes unto… Continue reading Hilltop reverie
Friendly White Sheep
Karleen & I were crossing this meadow on Christmas day, it being a mild winter and the grass still growing enough to be cropped by a flock of sheep. They mostly minded their own business and kept at a distance, except for this one. We thought at first she wanted something from us, perhaps some… Continue reading Friendly White Sheep
Travelling on Foot
A Wayfarer’s Notes has changed its motto again. Farewell “not-doing”; back to Werner Herzog and his dictum: “The world reveals itself to those who travel on foot.” To be sure what he means, I check context. Patrick House: You once walked from Munich to Paris to visit your dying friend, and in your film “Wheel… Continue reading Travelling on Foot
Clouds and simple things . . .
I like clouds, trees and grass. They help reconnect with my primitive self, which has no care for fashion, technology or politics. So we went to Saunderton Lee, where I photographed flat-bottomed clouds, the sort you get on a day of sunshine and rain, and which first struck me as worthy of note one August… Continue reading Clouds and simple things . . .
Like a letter . . . (2)
following on from previous post Stephen Mitchell, adventurous translator of classic texts, attempts to explain wei wu wei, or “not-doing”, using words like these: It’s when the game plays the game; the poem writes the poem; we can’t tell the dancer from the dance. Bryan voices an objection: But with the dancer or the athlete, there have… Continue reading Like a letter . . . (2)
Talking the Walk
Transcribed from an ad-hoc recording made on December 14th between 12:30 and 13:50, while walking the above route. To hear the audio please click here. It will be played in a new window. There are problems with politics [referring to words rather than deeds]: when it’s diminished to binary options, with clichés replacing awareness when… Continue reading Talking the Walk
Just pix
impromptu pose
England’s green and pleasant land
I’ve been agitated lately, it started a day or so before Polling Day. I was astonished to find how much this Referendum mattered to me. In the end I went to the favourite spot I’ve written about before (England Have My Bones) with camera & voice recorder; recalling as I went Ellie’s comment on a… Continue reading England’s green and pleasant land
That which is unchosen
On Monday morning I passed through the alleyway that leads to the children’s playground at the back of our house. It’s my shortcut to everywhere. There are “No Dogs” signs but dogs can’t read and their owners don’t care. Emerging from the shortcut into the playground I heard the single word “Unchosen”, as if whispered… Continue reading That which is unchosen
Chance Encounters
(Of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels of heaven . . . (Matthew 24:36) We cannot know how much time we have left. I met Jack the other day, an old man struggling at his garden gate to bring in a freshly emptied rubbish bin, while holding on to his… Continue reading Chance Encounters
Many Are the Ways
It’s been a busy few weeks, and a kind of milestone. Karleen’s retirement after 42 years’ continuous employment has been finalized; and we’ve had a new kitchen installed. These two events seem to have balanced the scales of Destiny. For on the one hand, we’re no longer tethered to this unique spot on the globe’s… Continue reading Many Are the Ways
The Unnamed Road
I walked around The Pastures, a hillside north of our house, musing as follows. "The earth is poised and serene, showing through its balanced complexities how intelligently creative it is. Human beings are restless. Prejudice is inborn and entirely natural, though aspects of it are ugly. It is beneficial for us to live in accordance… Continue reading The Unnamed Road
The Trip
Trip, n(1): 3. A short voyage or journey; a ‘run’. Apparently originally a sailor’s term, but very soon extended to a journey on land. 5. slang (orig. U.S.) a. A hallucinatory experience induced by a drug, esp. LSD. In my last I recalled three authors who pursued the Zen form of enlightenment and tried to… Continue reading The Trip
The Buddha and the Corpse
"What’s that book you’re reading?" asks my neighbour, curiously. There’s a score of us arranged along the cobblestones, leaning against the retaining wall of the public gardens—le Square du Vert Galant. We are proud to be Les Beatniks of Paris, or Les Clochards - the hobos. We’re blocking the public path that borders the dark… Continue reading The Buddha and the Corpse
The bench on St. Michael’s Green
the bench where I sat Introduction The piece below dates from about 2000, and remains displayed on a website I first created when the cybersphere was young and the web-log had yet to be invented. It belongs to a time when I would drive my daughter to Beaconsfield on a Saturday morning, and sit on… Continue reading The bench on St. Michael’s Green
The Creative Mind
The other morning I turned on Radio 4 whilst washing the breakfast dishes and it sounded interesting, a kind of reminiscence. I’d missed the beginning and took a little while to catch on. I liked the sound of the lady though, full of fun, approachable and without false modesty. When she mentioned a former post… Continue reading The Creative Mind
At the Moot spot
moot, adj.: Originally in Law, of a case, issue, etc.: proposed for discussion at a moot. Later also gen.: open to argument, debatable; uncertain, doubtful; unable to be firmly resolved. (OED) It’s a long time since I went wayfaring, so long that I became a malade imaginaire and my soul went into hibernation. The vicious… Continue reading At the Moot spot
Inner & Outer Landscape
I decided to go for my usual loaf of bread by a circuitous route, over the Pastures; or rather, my feet took me that way while I readied myself to share what I had to say to Olympus, my companion of the road, expert at listening because he’s a state-of-the-art voice recorder. You’ll see from… Continue reading Inner & Outer Landscape
At the Blue Note Café
It was dusk, on a winding country road hemmed in by darkening hedgerows on either side. Round a bend, I suddenly saw two mediaeval peasants trudging along at the roadside, bearing staffs and bundles and what looked like bamboo hats on their backs. I was led back in memory to the Blue Note Café by… Continue reading At the Blue Note Café
Not for Bread Alone
What goes on within us, in the complex immediacy of Now? I suggest this string of moments is all we have: the movie of our life, played live, in which we have no choice but to act; beyond which there is Nothing, though it’s our constant illusion to think otherwise. Joyce had a fictional shot… Continue reading Not for Bread Alone
Stepping aside
I had no thought of doing an audio diary, nor for that matter of producing a music video, let alone combining the two into a hybrid. Some things evolve by accident: you and I for example, if you can believe it, have evolved in exactly that way. Certainly the best things in my life have… Continue reading Stepping aside
Cover Story
Brian Spaeth’s been helping me design a front cover for Wayfaring. His style tends to be low-res—or even ultra low-res. I respect that, but I wanted a picture you could enter, so as to walk the paths it depicts, and see every detail. Up till June 2005, I could only gaze at enticing landscapes, and… Continue reading Cover Story
32 Answers
A correspondent thought that the final paragraphs of Wayfaring (a planned book) ought to have more impact. I could see how they might be viewed that way, and tried to do something about it. Perhaps by appending an Afterword? It didn’t feel right to write anything new. I thought of asking the question “What is wayfaring?”… Continue reading 32 Answers
The printing-factory
I wonder why, out of the mass of all we forget, some inconsequential things stick in our minds. Perhaps they chime with our destiny, that elusive future no one can see till it arrives. And when it does, perhaps something from our rag-bag of memories may “ring a bell”, as if it had been foreshadowed.… Continue reading The printing-factory
Divine Economy?
Stepping out the door into sunshine or cloud, nothing on my mind, I marvel at what it is to be human. It’s like being in a strange land with no map. Here am I, familiar to myself. Slowly I change, but not as fast as the world around me. I'm more comfortable with things as… Continue reading Divine Economy?
Walking, Thinking, Thanking
I have the odd idea, when I’m tramping streets or country paths, or riding on a bus, that this is when I feel most truly at home. What on earth can that mean?* I’m threading my way through this housing estate on the hillside, the one I see from my study window. It has become… Continue reading Walking, Thinking, Thanking
Ellie Clayton on William Blake
In 2021, Ellie Clayton wrote a series of pithy paradoxical observations, on the lines of Blake's Proverbs of Heaven and Hell. She published them on a blog Divine Economy. I was inspired to format them into a printable document: you can download it here.
rambling in a landscape
Some use rural footpaths to walk their dogs. I prefer to go alone or accompanied by an equally faithful companion, the Muse. From a radio programme broadcast yesterday, part of a series called “Ramblings”: Robert McFarlane: Paths run through people as they run through places. I’m fascinated by the idea that we understand ourselves and… Continue reading rambling in a landscape
Park benches
I often pass this public garden, fifteen minutes’ walk from home going west along the valley. It has three benches, normally unoccupied, and I’m always tempted to sit on one, and be part of the scenery. It’s as if I have a romantic notion of park benches. There’s a nice film about shenanigans on Hampstead… Continue reading Park benches
Lucid Waking
At 06:07 I see things as imbued with meaning, like fragments written in a foreign language. Sometimes I can decipher them; sometimes even put them in English. For instance, from my bedroom window I can see the Victorian factory opposite. I wake as the early sun catches its gable ends. As on a sundial, it… Continue reading Lucid Waking
Blessedness
Days pass quickly, like the view from a speeding train. From another angle, I stand on a bridge above the line, hear the roar and clatter of the train below, watch it round the curve and disappear into the tunnel, leaving emptiness and the memory of its presence. Externally, each day resembles the one before;… Continue reading Blessedness
Presence: the numinous in everyday life
Numen n. the spirit or divine power presiding over a thing or place. Numinous, adj. having a strong religious or spiritual quality, indicating or suggesting the presence of a divinity. (Oxford Dictionary of English, 2010) I suggested in my last that one might find a starting point for the meaning of “God” in the everyday… Continue reading Presence: the numinous in everyday life
The Gentle Art of Wayfaring
There was a programme about Wayfaring on the radio, based on a book called The Gentle Art of Tramping, written in 1927. In those days “gentlemen of the road”, often old soldiers, would be seen on foot across Britain, communing with Nature, find rough shelter each night, doing a little casual labour here and there.… Continue reading The Gentle Art of Wayfaring
In memoriam for a lost friend
Earlier this month I published a piece entitled In Memoriam: ..., followed by the name of my late friend from fifty years ago. Part of my intention was to bring him back to life in my own mind, and if possible my reader’s too. But what most inspired the effort was the wish expressed in… Continue reading In memoriam for a lost friend
Elemental
I scribble ideas aimlessly, nothing wrong with that. But then I fall under the spell of supposing this will generate “creative writing”, whatever that may be; something from which value can be directly harvested. It’s better to think of it as rotten fruit, to be cast out and forgotten. Some time later we may discover… Continue reading Elemental
The magic fence
It’s been raining every day for weeks. Catching a cold gave me an additional reason to stay indoors, but the other morning, in the bright lull after a heavy downpour, I ventured out for a couple of errands, taking the usual shortcut to the shops on Ledborough Road, through the derelict school yard and the… Continue reading The magic fence
Amsterdam
I have a special relationship to Holland because Mulder is my surname and I spent four months near Arnhem in 1947 staying with my supposed father's sister, Auntie Non. I've described that sojourn here In 2012 we took a break to Holland to celebrate our anniversary and her birthday. The other day I looked for… Continue reading Amsterdam
Whithersoever
Stepping outside myself, I caught infinity in a moment; came face to face with a Super Star of Invincibility. How little we know: whence we came, whither we’re going. We're on our way. Whithersoever I went on a small journey in preparation for a bigger one. On Monday I fly out to Amsterdam, so this… Continue reading Whithersoever
Film Noir
One of the most stylish and effective films I’ve recently seen is The Man Who Wasn’t There, starring Billy Bob Thornton. Set in 1949, it tells the story of Ed Crane, a small-town barber, who faces life with an eerie impassivity, whilst not enjoying his job, becoming a cuckold... He cuts the hair of a… Continue reading Film Noir
Binding a joy
He who binds to himself a joy Doth the wingèd life destroy; But he who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in eternity’s sunrise. This verse of William Blake is never far from me, internalised, imprinted upon my unconscious, and a work in progress. There is joy in being alive; breathing fresh air; having… Continue reading Binding a joy
Evolution
It’s been a long time since I just wrote a post straight off, but when you have guests sometimes you have little time to yourself. I’m wondering if I am like other people. They often seem to plan their lives, both long-term and for a day at a time. I’m not the planning type. The… Continue reading Evolution
Let Spring be my muse
Things are happening in hedgerow and pasture; a spate of fresh worm-casts; larks twittering; occasional sardonic comments by crows. A suddenly-surprised cock pheasant flaps away from me, going airborne in its panic, plumage bejewelled and voice like a rusty klaxon. Last year’s sunflower-heads, haggard and desiccated, stand witness to the kindness of supplying winter provender… Continue reading Let Spring be my muse
Sacred places
Books I’ve recently read convey snatches of the lore whereby sacred places may be recognized and visited. I find myself wanting to quote from them. But I must refer only to what I know, sketchy or part-submerged in the subconscious as that may be. David Abram for example speaks of certain peoples, on the fringes… Continue reading Sacred places
Infinite are the depths
Some days are special gifts but it takes something else, some extra gift to be able to share them. When I say days, I mean moments within days. And when I say special, I refer to some magic visible only to the inner eye. A day is a torrent of moments which pass us by,… Continue reading Infinite are the depths
Project
Poor blog! Your master has neglected you: deliberately. And taken a vow also to write briefly and more or less spontaneously, as opposed to elaborate literary essays: the better to do other things elsewhere—to be elaborate in a more spacious (i.e. book) format, conducted with an excellent collaborator: sometimes sparring partner, sometimes antagonist. It’s going… Continue reading Project
Capturing the Moment
I was going to write about Wales. And then I was going to write about child looters rampaging the evening streets of English cities. I probably won’t finish either of these essays though they exist in partial drafts. So here instead are a few photos of a recent camping trip. You can click on them… Continue reading Capturing the Moment
Life-illusion
My last ended with these words: We make ourselves blind to the fact that our lives are not actually ruled by reason. They are ruled by pursuing whatever makes us feel all right. We then apply reason to tell ourselves that what makes us feel all right is “the truth”. This thought needs full explanation.… Continue reading Life-illusion
Mission
The photos alongside were taken on a walk in Flackwell Heath I confess to a constant need: to have a sense of mission. I don’t suppose this makes me any different from any other man—I specifically mean man as opposed to woman, child or any other specimen from the imaginative catalogue of God’s creatures. I… Continue reading Mission
Affinity
Why do I write, if I can’t write any better? But what would become of me if I didn’t write what I can, however inferior it may be to what I am? In my ambitions, I am a plebeian, because I try to achieve; like someone in a dark room, I’m afraid to be silent.… Continue reading Affinity
Dreaming spires
Oxford is everything that my own town is not, and it’s only 30 miles away. I decided Park and Ride was the best way to enter in triumph, using my new electronic bus pass, on a superb day in June, discovering that the students are in exams and the streets are a motley of tourists.… Continue reading Dreaming spires
Blessed by the sun
I step out of the house for the daily ritual of meeting Karleen from work. My route involves shortcuts through alleys. A perfect ritual has no practical purpose, no sense of obligation. It’s done for joy alone. Its sacredness within the rhythm of daily life increases on every repetition. Its tendency to sameness draws attention… Continue reading Blessed by the sun
By Bus and Canal
When I take a bus ride, I journey to the past. Subconsciously, this is my intended destination, for I could have taken the car instead, and “saved time”. I have no reason to save time any more. Now is my invitation to spend it freely; to use if I wish to sift my past, like… Continue reading By Bus and Canal
Perspectives and Remembrance
The emblem of this blog is a weathervane with a gilded Centaur, standing above a cupola on top of the 18th century Guildhall, in the market square of High Wycombe, built where two main valleys cross. There are smaller valleys too. Wherever thou goest, thou canst lift up thine eyes unto the hills, like the… Continue reading Perspectives and Remembrance
Groping Blindly
I’ve been in a ferment, witness to a cascade of interconnectedness, from which it is surely possible to construct an overarching meaning—but I won’t try, and that is an instance of laziness (or what-you-may-call-it) which was a theme in my last: something which seems to me like a great creative principle. In Nature, or perhaps… Continue reading Groping Blindly
Not trying too hard
I left the car at The Fox and Hounds in Christmas Common, and made my way down Hollandridge Lane, which has never been more than a cart-track, but offers glorious vistas on a perfect spring day. Not a farmhouse in sight, not a fellow-wayfarer or dog-walker, not even a sheep till I reached Pishill, and… Continue reading Not trying too hard
Keeper of Souls
The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: yea, it is even he that shall keep thy soul. I saw this on a tombstone at Hambleden, a tiny village that doesn’t seem to have changed since the Middle Ages. For all I know it may be still enmeshed in the feudal system, though its origins… Continue reading Keeper of Souls
Southward
I live in a valley, in one of the Victorian workers’ cottages that fill up the space between the small factories in which they worked. It’s a fold in the Chiltern Hills and unless you follow one of the rivers, upstream or down, you have to go up a hill to get anywhere. So at… Continue reading Southward
Unfettered
When you have a computer with Web access, you can find photos of almost anything, taken by better photographers with better cameras than you and yours. But it doesn’t stop us from indulging in the global festival of digital photography, that celebrates “I woz here!”—though mainly in the sunshine. In my outdoor shots, it’s usually… Continue reading Unfettered
Reason to Celebrate
Today I celebrate a milestone. It is exactly fifty years since I reached the age of 19, a special number for many reasons, and the last year of one’s teens. This morning I was given a mug bearing the words, “Today is all about YOU ... and there couldn’t be a better reason to celebrate!”… Continue reading Reason to Celebrate
Encounters on the Phoenix Trail
It was the most spring-like day this year and the urge to be out in it without delay overcame lengthy consideration of where to go. I considered the Phoenix trail to be unfinished business (see post before last) because I hadn’t walked its full length. Still haven’t, as a matter of fact. But there are… Continue reading Encounters on the Phoenix Trail
Pilgrimage
I’m on this path. I don’t know how far I’ve been, I don’t know where I am on the map. I hear planes criss-crossing distantly above the fog. I’m on the crest of a slope, looking out on rows of stubble, which bristle in parallel stripes over the curved surface of the fields. The landscape… Continue reading Pilgrimage
The Phoenix Trail
The trail largely follows the route of a disused railway line, the Wycombe Railway, which connected Princes Risborough and Thame with the city of Oxford. The line through Thame remained open until 1991 to serve an oil depot based in the town. (Wikipedia) It's open to pedestrians, horses, dogs and pedal cyclists. This is from a site… Continue reading The Phoenix Trail
The Walk to Marlow
I’ve never taken this trail before, this walk to Marlow on the first day of February, on a cloudless frosty day. How often it happens, on my wayfaring, that something triggers a memory, perhaps of a single second in my life, usually in childhood, for it was then that I most frequently encountered something for… Continue reading The Walk to Marlow
The worm in the apple
I’ve finally answered the God-question. Whether I’ve solved it for the world, or just for myself, is for the world to decide. When a discovery is made, it’s important to know how and in what circumstances; for they are not plucked from some realm where all the answers sit waiting to be claimed, in some… Continue reading The worm in the apple
Soul of an animal
The soul is feminine, I mean passive. It initiates nothing, does nothing but feel. It seems helpless to assert itself against will and intellect; like a slug on the sidewalk after rain, defenceless against accidental or deliberate squashing by human feet; or like a majestic brooding silence, the silence of a wilderness, defeated by the… Continue reading Soul of an animal
Preface
Intended as preface to a book I was planning in December, 2010 The soul is feminine, I mean passive. It does nothing but feel. Will and intellect are the masculine elements, delighting in action and creativity for their own sakes. In young men is a naturally warlike instinct: to fight, regardless of the cause espoused,… Continue reading Preface
The secret life of strangers
How is it possible to remember a moment when nothing actually happened? I don’t know, but such moments are the ones I remember most vividly. There were some major works being done on the railway line which affected the bridge above, in the middle of the village’s main street. In consequence, traffic on the bridge… Continue reading The secret life of strangers
Improvisation
Said Hayden, in a comment on my last: “I continue to think about your comments, Vincent, on your “magical” experience and the whisper in your ear. I'd love to hear more about it directly. Not the abstract philosophy that flows from it, but what you remember of the experience itself.” I didn’t know which experience… Continue reading Improvisation
The Chilterns
This is specially for Ashok, for comparison of the Chilterns with his real hills at Nainital. Here, the height above sea-level is never more than 200 metres. These vistas are all within walking distance of my house, which is near the middle of town, in the factory district. St Lawrence’s Church & Dashwood Mausoleum, photographed… Continue reading The Chilterns
Angst and Angels
Abstract ideas are all very well but unless you can feel them in your body or soul, you have no way of knowing if they are real. They might be the bastard children of human intellect mating with heaven-knows-what. So when Raymond proposed that existential angst is a universal experience, it left me unmoved. I… Continue reading Angst and Angels
Not understanding much
A BBC magazine programme about science, Material World on Radio 4, reports an ongoing study into the possible homing instincts of snails. I was interested, as a regular reader of this blog would not be surprised to learn. They are marking the snail shells with white correction fluid for identification; moving the snails somewhere else;… Continue reading Not understanding much
Let them be
I’ve been interested in the conversations of birds since a day in March 1971, in the churchyard of Hinderwell, a village in North Yorkshire. I had chewed a small square of wallpaper, which had been soaked in LSD. I learned the language of the rooks, almost. But that is a story for another day. This… Continue reading Let them be
a wayfarer’s notes 