A few days ago our winter warmth arrived. Eight tons of beech were unloaded at the foot of the garden, having been hauled from the mountain forests behind our home. It's now been bandsawed by the woodcutters who do the rounds of the village with a tractor-mounted blade, the rising metallic whine starting with the light each day. They worked on into the dark, sawing their … Continue reading A Way Within
Author: julianhoffman
The Long Ridge Down
Empires of any kind eventually slide, having risen within the shifting and fickle orbit of political, social, economic and religious realities. It's in the nature of things to fade so that what once seemed eternal exists only as memory, or as a scattering of stones. The traces mark the land with ruins and clues, half-hidden or submerged, … Continue reading The Long Ridge Down
This Lavender World
Despite its colour having faded to a pale relic of its name, the lavender in the garden remains an illuminated host. For much of the summer its spires of scented stems attract the bright and the beautiful: the glazed and glossy greens of chafers drowsily clambering about the flowers; red admiral and swallowtail butterflies clinging with filament … Continue reading This Lavender World
September Sun
The blackberries by the lake have been readied and turned dark by the sun. I work steadily through the afternoon, dropping them into a pail by my feet, working my way through the end of summer stillness as I meander along the bramble banks. But no matter how good the haul, or how rewarding the gathering of wild, abundant fruit, there … Continue reading September Sun
The Shepherd’s Song
It often feels as though I'm the only person anywhere on the plateau. I'm kept company by lizards basking on the sun-struck stones, the wind raking the dry grasses like fingers through hair, and the relic memories of the Greek Civil War still lingering about the bunkers. On other days, though, I discover that I'm not alone: shepherds … Continue reading The Shepherd’s Song