Author Archives: Irene Amiet

Fields of Gold

As the lowering sunshine slants across branches of mossy stem and porcelain leaf, tall grass, gold-spun, all wave in the breeze under wagtail’s whirring wings.

Wonder Woods

Painted, crafted and formed by the ever turning dials of our universe, our woods are celebrating youth. Darkness dissolves, and like a slow lapping of silver waves,

The Foxtrot

When there is nothing but bad news, doomsday approaching on poison-fume horses ridden by scythe swinging riders, I walk the woods. Patchy as they are