H is homeland. Ulster.

Here is an attempt at landscape listening. It is a reflection on time’s influence over aural perception and memory of place; an exploration of wildlife sound recording as a mechanism for aural topography.


Contemplation of the meaning of home, over a life’s breadth.


In December, lines of replanted ash; branches, at the tail-end of a storm.

After the rath are the older hazels. Once coppiced, deeply guarded; croaking as wind bends them, as if stretching tired joints. There is no boisterousness with them; merely, I think, the subtle, disapproving creaks of centuries through mossed bark.