6/21/2023 0 Comments Hidden Nature by Alys Fowler![]() ![]() ![]() On my writer’s wage, I worked around the clock to make ends meet and never quite managed it. Of course, since we were young and in love, it didn’t feel like that we were brave and brilliant, because we understood fragility. In the eyes of the world, I was his carer. We were living with another layer of the nature/culture divide: H has cystic fibrosis, a long-term, life-threatening weakening of the lungs caused by a faulty gene. I kept pot plants perched precariously outside the window, and spent my after-work hours maintaining other people’s gardens, always dreaming of my own. ![]() Any canal that fell inside this, I would paddle ![]() I drew a line around a map of Birmingham. Then I came home and consumed art, all the time longing to be outside, somewhere wild and vast and full of life. I wrote for a horticulture magazine – about parks, bedding plants and, I seem to remember, waterproof jackets. With my master’s degree in science, society and the environment, I had taken on the nature/culture dichotomy. H introduced me to artists, writers, musicians and movements, whole new ways of looking at the world. I don’t think he’d mind me calling him that. ![]()
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