How I need the rhythm. From listening to my heart, literally finger on pulse when my head begins to bully, to the familiarities, smiles and constancy of Priorat community and nature.I find such comfort...

Thirty years ago I was on an express train. It was November 10th and I was about to have a front row view of history, just as I sense is happening to me now.The Hanover to Munich service was on schedule,...

Dear A,Good to hear from you in the UK. We are alright, thank you, and glad to hear you are too. The comment about the prevalent political problems affecting us is, indeed, pertinent. We are distressed.We...

You know that queasy feeling that you are being watched? Of course you do.But I’m not talking about deep State or online data capture. This is about the unnerving sense that non casual, uncomfortably...

I sit here bereft. Maggie, my partner, is equally rudderless and raw. Our son, our second child, seven months old when we moved to Catalonia in January 2001, flew to Amsterdam today to settle into his...

We call them the Mother’s Garden creatives. Mother’s Garden is the name of this little farm that sits on the fringe of the farmland butting up to forested crags of the Serra de Llaberia. The creatives...

The landowner surveyed the corner of the terrain to which he had long staked a claim. It was large. It rose steadily, enough to ache his legs and make him wise to its value. It was rich. There was a patch...

Well, yes, I am convinced there are more than two.There is the real world. The scent of pine. Seasons. Foot and hoof prints. Bricks and mortar. Heartburn. Birdsong and butterfly wings. Thunder. The circle...