A very short piece for you this week, inspired by the story of Barry the owl, a much-loved and nonchalant female barred owl from Central Park in New York.
Human civilisation is loud. And it has been getting louder for millennia. As our population has grown, our towns and cities have expanded.
Late on Tuesday night last week, I was scrolling absent-mindedly through Twitter when an unusual request caught my eye...
“Not a drone shot – not another drone shot – but from the ground. What does it actually feel like to be in,” says artist and filmmaker Ruth Maclennan as she describes...
Most of the lime kilns are gone now. Old maps from the 19th Century suggest they were once dotted all around the farms run by Shane McAuliffe, a pig farmer in Ireland.
In the Altai Mountains of western Mongolia, travellers sometimes stumble on stone cairns topped with horse skulls and sticks flying coloured prayer flags. People have clearly put these installations there on purpose.
John Paull had a habit of collecting things he found when out walking. It was largely thanks to this that he set up his first nature table in a school, about 60 years ago.
At the height of the first lockdown, when Belfast’s streets were quieter than I’ve ever known them (quieter than they probably ever will be again), my wife and I walked through an inner suburb of Belfast and spotted two buzzards soaring above us.
In the city of Milan, Italy, two tower blocks garlanded with greenery rise from their surroundings. The architect that designed these buildings, Boeri Studio, christened them Bosco Verticale, or “vertical forest” – a demonstration of how urban structures could be so much greener than we’re used to.
In the American Rocky Mountains, a grisly natural phenomenon is slowly unfurling. Glaciers there are melting, releasing huge piles of rotting locusts that became encased in the ice long ago.