Covid-19 is not some great equaliser. As always, it is the most vulnerable who will bear the weight of the pandemic’s most catastrophic consequences, writes Kat Nugent.
Last night's lightning provided a fitting backdrop.
"You don’t expect to see something like that,” said one observer.
Spring is a time of recreation and awakening. As Mother Nature stirs from her winter slumber, new life surrounds us and offers an invitation to attune with the energy of the earth and reactivate the parts of ourselves that have been in hibernation.
At the moment, 'wild' is on trend. The marketing and advertising industries have turned their eye to the romantic escape fantasies we all covet. 'Find your wild,' the advert insists, click to buy.
It's snowing. You wouldn't think there are lots of kinds of snow but there are. For example, there are the big fat fluffy flakes that drift and float, silently smiling as they gently cover the world in a soft sparkling blanket. They are friendly. Happy. Cheerful little kids seeking playmates. That kind of snow warms your heart and makes you want to daydream by a fire with a cup of cocoa.
Your vagina would return to you like a long lost friend. Happy and excited to see you. Eager to catch up and no mention of the dreaded favour you once asked her to do in order for you to become a mother.
For Clare Morpurgo, who set up the educational charity Farms for City Children in 1976 with her husband Michael, the acclaimed children's author, the memories that have informed her life's work stem from the village of Iddesleigh in West Devon.
I'm back from a camping sojourn in the sodden British countryside and I have to reveal a shocking truth; everything in nature
Mother Nature is clearly good with water colours. These amazing pictures taken on a beach in Hawaii capture the exact moment
If I was on benefits, I'd have a bowl bulging with fruits from my loins and a free nest, for my troubles. Likewise, if I was a double-barrled posho, I'd have Jaspers and Hermiones coming out of every orifice, before you could say "sun-blushed tomato." We middling types pay their taxes and remain sprogless.