The Clearing posts

Since returning from our holiday last week, we noticed changes along the river, and several absences. The swans, once a regular presence, have disappeared after a failed nesting attempt, and the geese, goslings, mallards, and ducklings that were once impossible to miss are now nowhere to be seen. The bank swallows that had ducked and dived over the ponds have vanished. Many of the birds that had filled spring with movement, song, and activity seem suddenly absent. At first, i

The forest after rain: A call to slow down There’s a particular scent to a forest after rain. Fresh pine. Damp earth. Cool air settling quietly between the trees. The colours appearing more vibrant as though everything has been cleaned. This week in Glentress Forest, I’ve found myself noticing it more than usual. Not because I planned to slow down, but because my body insisted on it. Listening to our bodies: When nature demands rest After overdoing things slightly in Strathyr

During a week in Strathyre, surrounded by lochs, forests, and nestled between Ben Ledi and the hills of Loch Lomond and The Trossachs National Park, I was reminded that what appears peaceful from a distance is often full of life and movement beneath the surface. The landscape is utterly breathtaking, framed by pine forests and edged with an abundance of bluebells and other wildflowers. The gently lapping water reflects the hills and trees. The forest stretches into the distan

There’s something quietly revealing about a forest canopy. When one tree grows so large and dominant that it blocks most of the light beneath it, the forest floor changes around it. Nothing underneath grows freely anymore. Saplings lean sideways searching for light. Some become twisted around obstacles. Others remain stunted despite strong roots, whilst a few compete desperately for whatever light filters through. A few may appear to flourish because they sit closest to the c

We stood by the river and watched something quietly remarkable unfold. A large group of greylag geese - eight adults, moving together with around thirty goslings. At first glance, it looked simple, a family group navigating water and bank, nothing unusual. But the longer we watched, the more it revealed itself. This wasn’t random or chaotic movement. It was organised, attuned and intentional. Some of the adults stayed close to the goslings, guiding them forward. Others held t

Sometimes, an opening comes when you least expect it. A message, a conversation, or news that shifts something long held in place - not a clear path, or a resolution, but an opening. A moment where something that has been closed for a long time moves, even slightly. These moments don’t arrive neatly; they can carry hope, hesitation, and uncertainty - all at once. A sense of possibility, alongside a quiet instinct to tread carefully. And it can be tempting, in those moments, t

A Familiar Presence By the ponds in the village where we live, there has been a constant for years. A swan, known simply to us as Dyson . (Anybody who sees him eat will understand why we named him so) More than just birds passing through, Dyson and his mate became a presence - recognised, cared for, and woven into the rhythm of the place. For over a decade, he and his mate claimed the village's ponds as their own, raising multiple broods and moving with a sense of belonging t

Last night, by the river, we watched a small procession unfold. A mother mallard, followed closely by seven tiny ducklings, made their way from the River Ouse to a nearby pond…and then after a brief sojourn, just as purposefully, back again. As they navigated their way from the pond back to the river, they moved in a neat orderly line. Small, fluffy bodies, and tiny, quick paddling feet that stayed close to their mother. Except for one. One duckling lagged behind. Not by much

There’s a particular moment in spring that’s easy to miss. Not the first bright day, or the sudden burst of blossom, but something quieter, when the landscape begins to soften. When colour returns, gently. When buds loosen, and leaves start to unfurl. It doesn’t happen all at once, and there’s no grand announcement, just a steady, almost imperceptible shift towards growth. And yet, everything is changing. Over the past few months, something similar has been unfolding here.

Signs of spring are emerging - how will you step into the new season with a spring in your step?