When the wind blows through a wood, its mass is cut and closed by every leaf, forming a train of jittery vortices in the air.

Most spiders eat and remake their webs every night.

I am a feather for each wind that blows

You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows

One night, I lay awake for hours, just terrified. When the dawn finally came up - the comfortable blue sky, the familiar world returning - I could think of no other way to express my relief than through poetry. I made a decision there and then that it was what I wanted to do. Every time I pulled a wishbone, it was what I asked for.

At each moment, a poem might grow into a totally different shape. It is not so much like working in a garden. It is more as if you remade the garden every day.