Sky Ground Sky

Sky Ground Sky is a narrative that explores how landscape and culture create individuals, and how our relationship with the living world can ultimately redeem us.

A hand-built cabin beside two silver birch trees becomes the ground for reckoning with the past. The building process itself reflects a journey through place and body, an enquiry into how we can live and grow with our own history, and that of the land.

From a childhood between East Clare and London to years travelling across Southern Europe, Australia, Mexico and Indonesia, Sky Ground Sky is about finding belonging in the blurring of time and change, where memories pass through crumbling ground.

It is a narrative laced with dust, streams, cracks, roots, dreams, waterfalls; strangers and stranger places, landscapes both pretty and painful. 

In a blend of eco-poetry, travel writing, and lyrical reflection, this book explores the complex interplay between family, home, and community.

Everyone who preorders will get a hand-painted bookmark and an early discounted copy of the book. Thank you so much for your support!

A little more about….

I began writing this book in 2018 as a way of 'making sense' of time as it moved me: transient, ethereal, embodied and always. What began as a personal reclamation of my voice became a creative act of remembering, forgetting, and remembering again, a constant retrieval of the senses, away from all the noise and non-sense. This book is about the healing power of community and the ground we walk upon. The act of writing my life as it passed was embodied yet disembodied enough it proved able to balance the tides and salt my eyes, taking me safely away from ‘the moment’ as it edged me ever closer toward it. This book was written on the back of buses, bushes, scribbled down at dawn in my note book or app, midnight sleepless hostel dorm rooms, bustling cafes, crowded city streets, alone in my own head and full of cares, but also full of the raw pulsation of everything - the past and present iridescent, colours passing by the train-wreck, the sensation of falling, the silent music spinning out of it all. My head torn between two places. Moving about every few months, shifting grounds and stifled air. It was the will to hold and release the narratives I had inside my harddrive heart. Like snowballs, they gathered momentum inside me, taking on new layers of meaning with every passing place, new face. I wrote much of this book in the soft tissues of a life unfolding, so much the narrative has a foggy, momentary feel. The book explores how the land heals itself, and the destructive and constructive nature of the people we share it with.