Beyond Performance: Stillness as Action, Lockdown on the allotment

Cronk cronk… Cronk cronk… Cronk cronk… At the third of the rhythmic set of cries I stop, push the garden fork into the soil and turn.  Of course, I know it’s a rook, but somehow there’s a depth in this particular call that makes the familiar strange, she has my attention. The tone and the …

At the still point of the turning year – solstice reflections…

I’m writing this at the Winter Solstice. It’s one of those still Dartmoor winter afternoons, there’s a blanket of motionless grey clouds and not a breath of wind.  Earlier a buzzard wheeled lazily over our rooftop, the only movement in a sky where even the ubiquitous rooks were still and silent. Though it’s only 4:15pm …