K.M.Lockwood

. . . a voyager on the sea of writing.

This is a story told in swishing strands of seaweed and drops of brine from whiskers . . .

ash and wood smouldering

This is a story told in scraps of paper, sparks and ash rising from a fire . . .

This is a tale told in spade-sculpted sand and rows of seashells . . .

waves splash over rocks.

This is a tale told in bladderwrack and tangleweed, lost nets and sea-washed reefs . . .

This is a tale told in silver-glazed bubbles and swaying strands of thongweed Continue reading →

Three seals bask on rocks.

This is a tale told in the slosh of waves against cliffs, the cries of kittiwakes and a clatter of falling stones . . . Continue reading →

This is a tale told in rippling cave water and silvery fur . . . Continue reading →

This is a tale told in lines of waterweed and the shadows of reeds . . .

This is a tale told in seafoam, curling whiskers and whispers of wind through heather . . . Continue reading →

This is a tale told in washed-up planks, glints from broken glass and the skrike of gulls . . . Continue reading →