Rooted in my heart

RUTH climbed the narrow path to Windlow Hill. She had a canvas bag in one hand and her mother’s old cardigan tucked under the other. Below, the village looked almost as it had in her childhood – white

“Breaking up is never easy, I know…” Good old Abba – always ready with an apposite lyric, though in this case I suppose it should be “Letting go is never easy” as I say farewell to the garden I have m

© HEADER DRAWINGS BY MICHAEL HADDAD/HEART Leaves Byung-Chul ...

MAUD had been looking forward to finally getting her decorations out again. And now with a whole afternoon at her disposal she was really going to savour the experience and make it something special.

JENNA had a length of Christmas-themed fabric. She had used it previously to cover the table of her market stall, and was willing to sacrifice to help beautify Santa’s Grotto. It was patterned with al

An old man lives at the bottom of my garden. His name is Robert Barkus, or Bakehouse, or Bagust. Nobody is quite sure. But I often sense him around when I’m gardening, and I’ve found out a fair bit ab