Photography by Courtney Fox
What sweeter balm than nature to soothe the lonely soul? In this poem, Wordsworth gives his readers a Romantic description of nature’s beauty through the point of view of a “lonely cloud.” I know that in...
O silent wood, I enter thee
With a heart so full of misery
For all the voices from the trees
And the ferns that cling about my knees.
In thy darkest shadow let me sit
When the grey owls about thee flit;
There will I...
Photography by MICHAELA DURISOVA
The root queen knows your secret hopes.
The root queen knows your heart
The root queen’s crown is thorn and branch;
her garden, silver bones,
where acorn-seeds dream of oak-leaves,
and shadows speak of bright.
Have you seen the root queen there,
combing...
Photography by Ange Harper Model: The Druidess Of Midian
Walk down the path into the woods.
You don’t need a lantern, you don’t need light.
You’ve been here before and so have I.
In my hands I have stars, fish, water, air.
I have...
Article From 2014 Spring Issue #26
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Sing your song for us, mamma, they cry, sing your song, sing your song,
small white cheeks upon pillows, bright eyes blinking the black.
Tearless lovelies are mine, who know only sugarplums and ponies;
they beg night...
Illustration by Julia Jeffrey of Stonemaiden Art
Sometimes when we fight,
I want to slip on my seal skin
and disappear beneath the waves.
I warned you when we married
there are only so many times
I can drink my own tears
before the ocean comes...
Cover Images by ©Brian and Wendy Froud
I dream of green eyes and the silent fall of petals on my hair; the sound of someone breathing softly in my ear.
I dream of a hand gently stroking my cheek,
waking me with...
Feature Image Credit: Peter Horree / Alamy Stock Photo
He drifted through kelp, broken
scalp diffusing red like squid
ink clouding itself. Crowded, the spiny
urchins hinged their drift west. He slept,
I knew, towards his death. What harm
could there be in waking him?
Through...
Illustration by Marina Mika
We know you only by your absence.
The hole left behind, pressed
through the drifts like something
fallen from a great distance.
Wings shorter than we would have expected,
stumpy and round as a sliced orange peel
and your body a footless...
Painting by Anne Bachelier
Your once-silken voice will desert you, your legs
will make every step on land a torture.
There will come a time when you miss
the seaweed and seals, your old ways,
your old body. Now fit for neither land
nor sea,...