Donate
Ten days into 2026, I found myself crawling between the chambers of a disused chalk mine excavated deep into the Surrey hills of southern England. As an ecopoet, it is not unusual for me to transform unexpected spaces into a temporary writer’s studio. The four walls of my office are regularly exchanged for the meandering footpaths of local woodlands and heathland, or restless stretches of coastline. However, when I first began writing professionally, I never would have pictured myself climbing through a series of dark, underground, crumbling passages in the pursuit of poetry.
I was accompanying ...
There are approximately 578 more words in this article.
To read the rest of this article, please buy this issue, or join the Resurgence Trust. As a member you will receive access to the complete archive of magazines from May 1966.
If you are already a member, please Sign in
