This rectangle of land in front of our flat, generously dressed in dark compost. Mushroom compost, which arrived on a lorry and the man asked me to get my own pen to sign for it as he wasn’t allowed to lend me his or I might infect him. Bunny compost, made of our three bunnies’
Other people are fitting ventilators to those suffering in the overflowing hospitals, dear Earth. Other people are fetching medicine for their neighbours. I sit sulking in my office and wait for my daily exercise. I order myself expensive chocolates and a green hourglass. I estimate the days until I am free from this extravagant jail.
We are in the fists of a pandemic, and this fretting has preoccupied me. I have been resisting the fact of my almost total lack of control. I have been reassuring myself with lies about my invulnerability. I have been checking for fresh news every ten minutes and prodding at the fear like a bad
I look at the blank page for a long time. What can I say? What can I possibly say? That will even begin to make sense of it all? That will provide some comfort? The boiler in the room next to me is thrumming. It is heating this whole house – keeping us warm like
I prefer to share photos of me looking decent, or at least like I’ve vaguely got it together. Here’s one my friend Joe kindly took at 3am at our all-night meditation vigil. I was either asleep or trying not to freeze. Today I felt like the equivalent of this photo. I ate far too much
A new virus has made itself at home inside us, darling Earth. It is creating heavy work for us – practical, financial, political. It is killing those who are vulnerable. Many of us are frightened. When we are frightened, we do what our systems know how to do. For some of us, we hide under
It was cold. I arrived at midday and rain bucketed down on us, soaking my coat and the cushion I was going to sit on. We rearranged the wet signs and candles, letting people know that we were holding a vigil for you, precious Earth. My friend Sarah and I joyfully chanted for you as
Yesterday I was filmed for a Dutch programme about Extinction Rebellion. One of the questions Wouter asked me was, ‘who are you writing to?’. It’s an interesting question. Are you a figment of my imagination, sweet Earth? Am I talking to myself? My vague answer to him (a deity, a living organism, infinite complexity and