12 Quotes by Kathleen Jamie

Isn’t that a kind of prayer? The care and maintenance of the web of our noticing, the paying heed?

In September countless sand and house-martins jazz above the river, taking insects from the surface, from the air, thousands of birds kissing the river farewell. They creak, a sound like the air rubbing against itself. Summer is everything they know; they’re preparing themselves, sensing in the shortening days a door they must dash through before it shuts.

Every year, in the third week of February, there is a day, or more usually a run of days, when one can say for sure that the light is back. Some juncture has been reached and the light spills into the world from a sun suddenly higher in the sky...