By Giselle Bader

Forests are thick places. They are suffused with history and folklore, their denseness and darkness absorbing the memories and experiences of all those who have moved through it.

By Morelle Smith

It was Francesca’s idea to go to Jurkalne. Someone she met in Riga at the film festival had travelled round Latvia’s western coastline on his motorbike and the best place, he said, was not a town or village but a stretch of beach below a high sand dune, like an overlooking cliff, held in place by a pine forest.

By Rachel Turney

Thinking of the word adrift brings to mind floating through time and space.

By Rebecca Gransden

Tight roads, the verge gone wild in too quick a time, grass spread in a craze, strange zig zag stems, leaves mash with fronds, buds nod rot fruit and drop to make squelch meat tracks.

By Sam Francis

We wake at Pistyll Rhaeadr waterfalls. New greens are settling in. Foxgloves sculpt the edges of pathways and roads pink and purple in their standings.

By Kate Chandler

“Stop. Where are you from?”

Armed with pepper spray and a scowl, the border guard at Pembroke Dock isn’t messing around.