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How I miss the sunny lockdown mornings of late spring last year, when I frogmarched my two children to the park to watch the goslings in the pond.
I may never have seen the Taj Mahal by moonlight, but I have walked in a wood carpeted with anemones, somewhere in Transylvania.
I am convinced the primula is the spring flower of my affections, but be warned: it requires constant attention.
The film’s over-simplification and outdated statistics risk adding to the challenges already facing the world’s oceans.
A council swimming pool is for everyone – you can bob around in the shallow end or take a family of five for a magical experience for less than the price of a pizza.
Richard Mabey’s powers of noticing made him the godfather of “the new nature writing”. At 80, he reflects on depression, class and why the natural world does not exist to make us well
As I propped the hut door ajar so that my winter visitor could escape, I experienced a slight twinge of concern. What would it do out there, far from its nearest bush?
This time last year I went for a very ordinary walk, unaware of the disruption, trauma and solitude that was to come.
Sadly, I realised that these unintended sanctuaries were temporary and would soon fall to the developers.
Winter is about stasis, but spring brings change and progress – and dear God, never have we all needed to move forward more than now.
From Charles Dickens to the Dasgupta report, the story of the oyster holds gritty hope for conservation.
