cybercrofter

I am not the only writer for whom bears are their muse, and I'm not thinking here of nursery rhymes, doggerel or poems for childr...

A goldcrest flitted into my writing turret while I was scribbling. It panicked, battered itself on the windows trying to find a way out, ...

It's that time of year. Long, long nights, and during the day the sun is low over the horizon. Even the hazels have given up any attempt...