I like the quiet, the animals and the trees. It took me a long time to get here from where I grew up, in between factories, steel hard and iron grey. Long ago most of my family lived in these borderlands; I guess I’ve always been slowly heading home. There’s something important in the curve of a bird’s wing as it cuts the wind and the jumbled stones which break the earth on a round hill’s top. It’s not only the things, temporary and fleeting as we all are, frantic half seen ghosts to the oldest of trees. It’s the intuitions which shimmer and call in the buzzard’s mewl or the fox’s flash. I try to hold this sparkling stuff long enough to sing it and remember, before it trickles through my fingers back into the earth. Some friends helped me make a recording of some of these songs.