I’m loaded down with a rucksack that is far too heavy, realising that my Everyday Carry game is, probably, way out of whack. The things I’m carrying about my body, probably, would also look ridiculous to the hardened nomad.

1. A suit jacket, black (wearing).

2. Handmade patchwork trousers, themselves the rebirth of a dozen grunge-era jeans.

3. A not-by-me handmade Indian shirt. Bright orange.

4. A deep purple shirt and purple tie.

5. A pirate-buckled waistcoat.

6. Assorted toiletries and a sleeping bag.

7. A laptop. Solar charger. Phone bank. Notebook and coloured pens.

8. Frankinsence cones. Lighter.

9. An antique rosary, dedicated Stella Maris.

10. A Mary Oliver book.

All this is far too much and indeed ridiculous, but I hope it fits the pilgrimage I’m undertaking; to the remembrances of two friends. I’m hoping that I’m only taking what I need – even if, right now, my needs feel very heavy, and my shoulders sometimes ache.

On Sorrow, Mary Oliver.

Landscape, Mary Oliver


Wilding Edge
Feraculture: Philosophy, Pigeon-Ideas & Notes