Author Archives: Cate Anderson

Among the pea sticks and neat rows of veg A nun stoops low to tend the shooting plants. A girl looks on, unseen beyond the edge Of this bucolic scene, caught in the slant Of late spring sunlight glancing through … Continue reading →

The clematis and roses, still in bud, almost fill the arches now. Beds edged with nasturtium, yet to break from their neat rows, to blur the wide path’s tidy margins. Not in that explosive, jewelled way of the original, but … Continue reading →

The melancholy garden drips spent rain from brittle seed heads clustered on bent stalks. Ripe rose hips and unseasonal blooms enliven damp stone walls. We walk on Persian rugs of gold, red, umber, while gaunt trees stretch knotted fingers skyward … Continue reading →

To walk that road again – a lane? Passed stubbled fields. Kildarra up to Nolan’s farm. Pick purple blackberries on the way. A small child’s handful. Turn left at milk churns waiting by wild fushias live with bees. We squeeze … Continue reading →

THE CLOUTIE TREE Madron Well Cornwall She wakes, May day. Checks her phone, sees summer comes at last. Leaves sleeping houses Take the inland road, through greening landscapes strewn with granite quoit and capstone shadows – black against the salmon … Continue reading →

I park the car, turn off the wipers, stand in the rain a while to get my bearings, then collect a trolley. You look up and nod your head half hidden in your parka’s sodden fur as the automatic doors … Continue reading →