Shay Schmida

I am made of wonder for unquiet spaces and the moulds of sunken roads, of unpaved ways and the language of magpies. Let me curl inside the snail's shell and eat the words of poets, so that I may be what I become.

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Rabbit, Rabbit

By Shay Schmida

A catalogue of mist-gates in old wood, of seashores wrought by storm, of kirkyards and of roads. Here is writing, nature, and thought.

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Shay Schmida

Feb 23

In the Absence of Us

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A Museum in the Woods

"A hankering after the eternal"

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Why do we consider travelling as “living” when it’s the opposite?