I first started creative writing about a year before COVID, enticed by a free Gateshead Council project called Art Diamonds that ran sessions in libraries throughout the borough for those over the age of 50. During COVID our tutor used to send us prompts and we met on Zoom. That particular day, I think I looked out at the Cheviot Hills from our lodge beside the Wooler Water and began to write…
‘The Cheviot hills, bleak throughout the year, but no
Heather, tufted grass, carpet the headwaters of lives
As trickles of moisture ooze through moss, although
Miniscule existence, the eye unable to comprehend survives’
Click here to read the illustrated poem in full.
This poem was shared in response to the Tweed Stories ‘Writing the River’ online creative writing workshop, held on Thursday 30 July 2026 and delivered in partnership with The Wilson’s Tales Project. With thanks to everyone who participated so enthusiastically.
