13th June 2025 - morning, Norfolk

On the advice of an audiobook called 'England: A Natural History' by John Lewis-Stempel, I've been hunting down classic books by English nature writers. In addition to the prose and poems of John Clare, I tracked down a very old copy of The Natural History of Selborne from 1872 by Rev. Gilbert White. The cover and spine have disintegrated but I have peered inside and glimpsed the illustrations and that glorious musty smell and I know I'm going to enjoy (carefully) reading it. The inscription in it reads 'Arthur FitzHerbert White, June 1875, With his Father's True Love' - how wonderful.

A lot of nature writing I've read so far reads like fiction to me. I find I have to go to the furthest, wildest corners of Norfolk to experience the landscapes talked about even a hundred years ago. The texts read like the fantasy lands in Tolkien to me and I find they can be hard to relate to in my modern life.

I went for a brief walk in the rain, musing about how much of a part water has played in my life so far. Belly flops down in paddling pools and dashes though sprinklers nestle in my memory alongside family trips to the arcades on the pier at Weston-super-Mare and Canal barge holidays as a child.

I like how neutral Mulbarton Common is. It does not care what mood you are in or how your day is going. It is just there. It exists, regardless. I have found life hard lately but I know I can come to the Common and it is indifferent to my life. The wind will still ripple through the meadow grass and the experience is what I make it.

Top Pond, Mulbarton Common, Norfolk