I Know a Place

170131 Woodland 01
Acrylics on canvas, 45x61cm.

I know a place where the birds sing softly.
I know a place where the leaves lie gently.

I know a place where field mice forage
And wood lice feast
on fallen logs.

I know a place where the wind sighs high through the canopy
and pine needles drop to replenish the earth
in a thick spiky carpet of orange and brown.

I know a place where we always meet
To renew our bonds
In secret union.

I know a place where I will be happy
To spend eternity
With you.


Dead Tree Standing

Acrylics on canvas, 51x76cm.

Another in the pantheon of fallen trees.

Doon the Glen

Acrylics on canvas, 51×100.2cm.

Doon the Glen there’s a great muckle tree                                    :down, great big
Blaw’n o’er by the wind last January                                               :blown over
It’s roots exposed to the winter rains we get in June
An’ a’ it’s branches ripped aff in the fa’.                                        :off, fall

It spans frae bank tae bank o’ the wee mickle burn                     :small
That feeds the Rotten Ca’der,                                                              :Rotten Calder
That meets the Clyde at Redlawood,
Rins through the great City of Glesga                                               :runs, Glasgow
And oot through the Firth tae the wide Atlantic Ocean.             :out, to

D’ye think a’ they sticks I drapped in the watter                         :dropped, water
Will wan day wash up on some foreign shore – France,
Spain, Portugal? Mibbies e’en America?                                        :perhaps even

If ye fun wan o’ them please send it hame.                                  :find one, home
It’ll hae ma name oan it.                                                                     :have, on
And the Saltire Cross.                                                          :Scotland’s national flag

Fairy Dell


…or, Spot the Elves!

Out of this wood do not desire to go:
Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no.
I am a spirit of no common rate;
The summer still doth tend upon my state;
And I do love thee: therefore, go with me;
I’ll give thee fairies to attend on thee,
And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,
And sing while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep;
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so
That thou shalt like an airy spirit go.
Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!

Acrylics on canvas, 51x76cm.

F-F-Frozen Forest Footpath

[I do like a bit of alliteration]

Winter still has it’s grip but bright sunshine encourages us to get out of the house and go for a woodland walk.


“F-F-Frozen Forest Footpath”, Acrylics on paper, 42x59cm.

Contemplating The Race

On my wanderings up and down the Glen I always stop at a place I call The Race which is my description of how the river races down over flat slabs of rock and plunges into a deep pool, smoothes out, gurgles around, and then makes off in a sedate manner on it’s onward journey. I always stop there and lean over the barrier to contemplate the Meaning of Life [42, since you ask].

“The Race”, Acrylics on paper, 42x59cm.


You almost can’t see the water but you can hear it – dribbling and gurgling under the mass of logs and branches that criss-cross the gully, obscuring what lies beneath.

It looks totally inert, dampened by snow, but there’s life in them thar hills.

“Gully”, acrylics on paper, 42x59cm.