Auteur/autrice : Edwin

Why rainwater belongs in the British home One October afternoon in Devon, j’ai vu la pluie (as my old French…

There’s a moment, just before the city wakes up, when the world seems to hold its breath. The buses are…

On a still August evening in the Welsh countryside, I watched a cabin light up without a single cough of…

The quiet revolution inside old stone walls There’s a particular kind of silence inside an old cottage. Not the empty…

On a damp Tuesday in Yorkshire not long ago, I stood in the shell of a half-finished house, watching steam…

There is a particular silence that follows the assembly of flat-pack furniture. Cardboard torn, tiny screws scattered like confetti on…

There is a particular kind of quiet that only exists in a kitchen before everyone else wakes up. The kettle…

On a wet Tuesday in Yorkshire, I watched a neighbour’s gutter pour a silver waterfall straight into a storm drain.…

On a still summer night in an old stone cottage in Cornwall, I remember lying awake, listening to the house…

There is a particular kind of silence the first time your home runs on stored sunlight. No low hum from…