The Wood Wide Web – Fruitful Collaboration

Artists Michael Gresalfi and Eva Strautmann‘s collaboration responds to our emerging understanding of the Wood Wide Web that connects trees, fungi and soil: networked communities threatened by our ‘competitive’ view of life and by our industrial forestry practices.


1,580 words: estimated reading time = 6.5 minutes


Eva ‘found’ Michael on ClimateCultures following one of his Creative Showcase pieces and his invitation to foster dialogue and collaborations with fellow members, which we shared in our monthly Re:Culture newsletter. We would like to encourage further sharing of ideas and new collaborations between members.

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An interspecies symbiosis driving biological innovation

Below, Michael discusses the role of the Wood Wide Web. First, he
picks up the story of his and Eva’s collaboration:

When Eva and I began to discuss the continuing degradation and disruption of Earth’s regulating systems, we talked about the loss of habitat, and the largely unseen yet growing damage to co-evolved symbiotic relationships between different species. This discussion, and our shared love of forests, led us to our decision to focus both our attention and our art on the so-called ‘Wood Wide Web’.

We both independently created art that represents our artistic visualisation of this incredible symbiotic relationship between fungus, plants and trees.

The scientific community has confirmed many examples in nature of symbiotic relationships between animals, plants, insects, bacteria and fungi. In fact, we can look inside ourselves and find somewhere between one and three pounds of bacteria within our own large intestine: a relationship that scientists have termed a ‘mutualistic symbiosis’.

The surprise to me, when thinking about the so-called Wood Wide Web is both the complexity and the elegance of this mutualistic symbiosis between such a wide range of disparate species. Over the past 500 million years, fungi have co-evolved, along with plants and trees, to the benefit of all in this mutually supportive network.

I would contend that interspecies symbiosis is not just a common evolutionary path; that it is arguably the dominant engine of biological innovation on Earth. Today, roughly 80% to 90% of all land plants rely on fungal symbioses to survive. Without this cross-kingdom partnership, our forests and agricultural systems would collapse and the web of life itself might not exist.

Unfortunately, humans continue to cause such cross-kingdom partnerships to collapse, including the wood wide web. In fact, we have caused many such interspecies relationships to become ‘dysbiotic’.

Showing a painting 'Wood-Wide Web' by MIchael Gresalfi © 2025: 24" x 30”, mixed media on used, repurposed canvas - oils, acrylics and melted wax.
‘Wood-Wide Web’: 24″ x 30”, mixed media on used, repurposed canvas – oils, acrylics and melted wax. Artist: Michael Gresalfi © 2025

Conversation with trees

Eva shares her reflections on producing her series as part of the collaboration with Michael:

‘Conversation With Trees’ is a very personal and, at the same time, professional way of viewing my surroundings.

Living in the city, in the mountains of stone, is loud, noisy, exhausting and painful. I can not hear any Voice, just ‘Trash’ and ‘Crash!’

Outside, in the countryside, on the sea, and in the forest, you can listen to the silence, to the movement of water, of ice, of the wind and you can listen to the trees.

This is what I have been doing for years and years, this is actually my home and my inner garden.

The movement of one tree or two or three … is telling me about the day, about friends, who are coming or not, the trees tell me about myself. What I wish, why and why not.

And there is one favourite tree right here, next door to my house, he is a bit nervous about my work: Eva, you are working too much. He keeps on telling me what is better for me. Some more coloured trees tell me about my next steps, what I should do.

I do not want to say here and now what I am telling them, but I am always polite and friendly.

Soon my friend Jacob Strautmann from Boston (USA) will write poems to my paintings, maybe he can describe my works.

These three paintings are the beginning of a series ‘Conversation With Trees’, which started in the dialogue with Michael. Our Zoom session and emails were very inspiring and helpful. I am very thankful to Michael and Mark: Thank you!

Showing 'Conversation With Trees 2', (Series) 2025 - 2026 (50 x 100 cm}: Oil on Canvas. Paining by Eva Strautmann © 2025
‘Conversation With Trees 1’, (Series) 2025 – 2026 (50 x 100 cm}: Oil on Canvas. Artist Eva Strautmann © 2025
Showing a pinting, 'Conversation With Trees 2', (Series) 2025 - 2026 by Eva Strautmann © 2025: (50 x 100 cm}: Oil on Canvas.
‘Conversation With Trees 2’, (Series) 2025 – 2026 (50 x 100 cm}: Oil on Canvas. Artist Eva Strautmann © 2025
Showing a painting, 'Conversation With Trees 3', (Series) 2025 - 2026, by Eva Strautmann © 2025 (50 x 100 cm}: Oil on Canvas.
‘Conversation With Trees 3’, (Series) 2025 – 2026 (50 x 100 cm}: Oil on Canvas. Artist Eva Strautmann © 2025

Mutualism & communication: life as an interconnected community

The Wood Wide Web portrays a forest not merely as a collection of competing individuals, but as an interconnected community where cooperation, sharing, and communication play a significant role in the health and resilience of the entire ecosystem. Science has revealed that trees in a forest are linked to neighboring trees by an underground network of fungi that resembles the neural networks in the brain.

These fungi form a symbiotic relationship with plant roots. They extend tiny, thread-like filaments far into the soil, acting as an extension of both tree and plant roots and can link the root systems of multiple trees and plants, often across different species.

The network between fungi and trees acts as a conduit for transferring resources like carbon, water, and nitrogen between neighboring trees. Trees, through photosynthesis, produce sugars (carbohydrates) and transfer some of this essential carbon to the fungi. Plants and other producers convert carbon dioxide from the atmosphere and water into carbohydrates (like glucose) using light energy. This process fixes atmospheric carbon into an organic, usable form.

The core of the Wood Wide Web is a biological partnership called mycorrhiza, which means ‘fungus-root’. Mycorrhizal fungi form a symbiotic relationship with plant roots. They extend tiny, thread-like filaments called hyphae (collectively known as mycelium) far into the soil, acting as an extension of the tree’s root system.

These fungal filaments can link the root systems of multiple trees and plants, often across different species, creating what is known as a Common Mycorrhizal Network (CMN).

The mycorrhizal network is believed to enable several vital functions. Resource exchange (mutualism) is the foundation of the relationship:

    • From tree to fungi: Trees, through photosynthesis, produce sugars (carbohydrates) and transfer some of this essential carbon to the fungi.
    • From fungi to tree: The fungi, in return, use their extensive network of hyphae to scavenge for water and crucial soil nutrients (like phosphorus and nitrogen) that are often inaccessible to the tree’s main roots, and transfer them back to the tree.
    • From tree to tree: The network can act as a conduit for transferring resources like carbon, water, and nitrogen between neighboring trees. For instance, a large, well-lit ‘mother tree’ might transfer nutrients to shaded seedlings or stressed neighbors, including its own kin.

Communication is another feature of the web. Some research suggests that trees can send chemical or electrical distress signals as warnings through the network — for example, when under attack by insects or disease — prompting neighboring plants to increase their own defensive enzyme production.

In essence, the Wood Wide Web portrays a forest not merely as a collection of competing individuals, but as an interconnected community where cooperation, sharing, and communication play a significant role in the health and resilience of the entire ecosystem.

Wood Wide Web research — diversity & resilience

The Mother Tree Project is a large-scale, long-term research and outreach initiative led by Dr. Suzanne Simard at the University of British Columbia. It is essentially a real-world experiment in regenerative forestry, building directly upon her decades of research into the Wood Wide Web.

The project’s goal is to find new, sustainable forest management practices that maintain forest health and resilience in the face of accelerating climate change, wildfires, and other disturbances.

Dr. Simard’s research on the Wood Wide Web and Mother Trees has been one of the most significant forces challenging conventional, industrial forestry practices that were largely based on a Darwinian view of tree competition.

Her field studies revealed that trees are linked to neighboring trees by the underground network of fungi described above, which resembles the neural networks in the brain. In one study, Simard watched as a Douglas fir that had been injured by insects appeared to send chemical warning signals to a ponderosa pine growing nearby. The pine tree then produced defense enzymes to protect against the insect.

Simard’s work proved that our aggressive removal of ‘competitors’ actually harmed the desired trees, as the clearcut seedlings were disconnected from the vital mycorrhizal network and the resources provided by the Mother Trees and neighboring species.

Both plants and fungi associate with multiple symbiotic partners at once, and both plants and fungi are capable of preferentially allocating resources to one partner over another.

Her findings advocate for promoting diversity, keeping a mixed-species forest and protecting the oldest, most-connected trees to ensure the entire ecosystem remains resilient.

Mycorrhizal associations have profoundly impacted the evolution of plant life on Earth ever since the initial adaptation of plant life to land. In evolutionary biology, mycorrhizal symbiosis has prompted inquiries into the possibility that symbiosis, not competition, is the main driver of evolution.


Find more

To inform his and Eva’s collaboration, Michael compiled information on the Wood Wide Web from data extracted using AI (Genesis).

The Mother Tree Project was established in 2015 by internationally acclaimed author and University of British Columbia ecologist Dr. Suzanne Simard, to address the urgent need to steward and safeguard British Columbia’s forests amid intensifying climate threats.

Michael also highlights this paper by Lucette Flandroy & colleagues: The impact of human activities and lifestyles on the interlinked microbiota and health of humans and of ecosystems (Science of The Total Environment, Volume 627, 15 June 2018, pages 1018-1038).

Michael Gresalfi
Michael Gresalfi
An artist who seeks to incorporate art with climate change data, and whose work in encaustic medium, glass paint, oils and acrylics includes 'Our Changing Planet'.
Eva Strautmann
Eva Strautmann
An artist, author and lecturer exploring the question of ecological relationships through themes of nature and animals, physicality and abstraction, with recent exhibitions on climate change.

Ancient Woodland — A Celebration of Place

Mary Waltham introduces her and fellow artist Jackie Amies’ joint exhibition on their local ancient woodland. Their art invites our curiosity about these rare, ecologically rich areas, which have been largely untouched by human activity since before 1600.


2,150 words: estimated reading time = 8.5 minutes


I can never remember a time in my life when I did not prefer to be outside rather than inside. Growing up on a farm, in a small village in Dorset, the open spaces outdoors in all seasons were my habitat — woods, fields, streams, and ponds. In the past there was much greater human involvement and familiarity with the natural world and I have been fortunate to experience that when young and now, in later life. It enlarges my sense of the world and gives me simple joy. Living now in Selborne, Hampshire and spending large chunks of time walking means that inevitably I am drawn to ancient woodland. Our cottage is 200 yards as the crow flies from Selborne Hanger, an iconic East Hampshire ancient woodland.

Context: Where is Selborne Hanger?

Excerpts from Selborne Local Landscape Character Assessment (2014) are included here to clarify the position of the site.

“Selborne Hanger lies above the village of Selborne in Hampshire. At its apex the Hanger is one of the highest points in Hampshire, 211 metres (692 ft) above sea level. In the image, contour lines are at 10m intervals. The summit and steep escarpment are covered by woods, dropping abruptly to the fields above Selborne.

"The name Hanger comes from the Old English word Hang’r, meaning a steeply wooded slope.

"From any direction, it is Selborne Hanger that commands first attention; the village being hidden from view, nestling some 85 metres below the ridge of the Chalk Scarp.

"The village and its Hanger are synonymous. When inside the village, the Hanger always feels present.”1

Gilbert White described this place in 1789:

“The soils of this district are almost as various and diversified as the views and aspects. The high part to the south-west consists of a vast hill of chalk, rising three hundred feet above the village; and is divided into a sheep down, the high wood, and a long hanging wood called the Hanger. The covert of this eminence is altogether beech, the most lovely of all forest trees, whether we consider its smooth rind or bark, its glossy foliage, or graceful pendulous boughs. The down, or sheep-walk, is a pleasing park-like spot, of about one mile by half that space, jutting out on the verge of the hill-country, where it begins to break down into the plains, and commanding a very engaging view, being an assemblage of hill, dale, wood-lands, heath, and water.”

— Gilbert White, The Natural History of Selborne (1789)2

In hindsight, I was slow to engage fully and in depth with the significance of ancient woodland that Selborne Hanger and several surrounding areas exuberantly typify. So often when working in London at a demanding role as an executive in fast-paced magazine publishing, I would walk into the Hanger for a break from analysis. Yet always there was this sense of place, including curiosity about all the species that had gone before me. Who were they, what were they doing in the wood and on the Common, and would they recognise it now? I believe so.

“The experience of place and the significance of a sense of place, has never seemed to me simply a matter of sentiment or feeling, but to be something much deeper and more profound.”

— Jeff Malpas, Heidegger and the Thinking of Place (2017)3

In recent years as my art practice developed, I met Jackie Amies, another local artist and keen walker who came to an Open Studio I hosted. In the summer of 2024 we began a conversation about making work for a joint exhibition, and we started to cast around for themes that we could both respond to with enthusiasm.

The result was our exhibition Ancient Woodland: A Celebration of Place at the Allen Gallery in Alton, Hampshire. While each of our art practices continues to develop in appreciation of and response to a variety of habitats close at hand in Hampshire, downlands, wetlands, rivers and chalk streams, for example, why did we choose ancient woodland for this, our first exhibition together?

Showing 'Ancient Woodland: A Celebration of Place' by Mary Waltham & Jackie Amies, an exhibition at Allen Gallery, Alton 2025. Photograph by Seamus Flanagan 2025
‘Ancient Woodland: A Celebration of Place’ by Mary Waltham & Jackie Amies, exhibition at Allen Gallery, Alton 2025. Photograph: Seamus Flanagan © 2025
Showing 'Ancient Woodland: A Celebration of Place' by Mary Waltham & Jackie Amies, exhibition at Allen Gallery, Alton 2025. Photograph by Seamus Flanagan 2025
‘Ancient Woodland: A Celebration of Place’ by Mary Waltham & Jackie Amies, exhibition at Allen Gallery, Alton 2025. Photograph: Seamus Flanagan © 2025

Ancient woodland — rich fragments of beauty

Despite best efforts to support and encourage these woodlands to thrive, they are consistently under pressure for development and, of course, from continuing assaults by a range of rapidly evolving tree diseases — such as ash dieback — that are further enabled by a warmer climate year-round. We set out to explore and raise awareness of the many dimensions of beauty of ancient woodland from our own perspectives.

Natural England has an inventory of all 52,000 ancient woodland sites across the UK as an online map.4 Looking at the whole map it is clear that many, even most, of the sites are small, fragmented pockets.

And yet, according to the Woodland Trust, “Ancient woods are our richest and most complex terrestrial habitat in the UK and they are home to more threatened species than any other. Centuries of undisturbed soils and accumulated decaying wood have created the perfect place for communities of fungi and invertebrates and specialist species of insects, birds and mammals.”5

What is ‘ancient woodland’? It is distinctive and often small tracts of woodland that have been largely untouched by humans since before 1600, and now cover just 2.5% of the UK.

Ancient woods are therefore also a continuing record of centuries of interaction and interdependence between man and woodland, often containing remnants of archaeological features such as wood banks, pits and charcoal kilns.

Ancient woodland is an immensely rich and complex area for exploration scientifically, culturally and artistically. Both Jackie and I feel as though we have only just begun!

Our exhibition invites visitors to the Allen Gallery to be curious about these rare and special areas we are fortunate enough to have access to.

We have used traditional media of paint, fine-art printmaking and photography, but with a twist. Paintings made with soil, and new ways to discover trees are among the interpretations. A gentle woodland soundscape accompanies visitors; we wanted people to have an immersive experience once in the gallery.

A sense of place in art

Jackie is exhibiting fine art prints that focus on trees. How many of us can identify trees from their leaves or bark? A series of twelve monoprints of ancient woodland tree leaves entitled ‘Foliate’ refreshes that lost skill.

Showing 'Foliate' series of artworks by Jackie Amies, in exhibition at Allen Gallery.
‘Foliate’ series, in exhibition, Allen Gallery, Alton. Artworks & photograph: Jackie Amies © 2025

As does ‘Barking’, a series of tree bark etchings over a coloured lino print. The printed backgrounds are an interpretation of the colours found either in the bark, within the wood or the changing leaf colours.

‘Barking – Field Maple’, by Jackie Amies. Photograph: Jackie Amies © 2025

The mystery of ancient woodland is evoked by the series ‘Rooted’, twelve unique monotypes inspired by a year of walking at Ashford Hanger. Each piece draws the viewer into the steep chalk slopes of the East Hampshire Hangers to gnarled wood, undercut roots and animal paths heading off between majestic mature tree trunks; a world rich in an abundance of life.

‘Rooted X’ by Jackie Amies. Photograph: Jackie Amies © 2025

Painting is my primary medium for this exhibition. I have been working with soil as a paint for the six pieces in the series ‘Ground’, using earth and ash as pigment. The pieces reveal and elevate the aesthetic qualities of ancient woodland soil through their intense colours and textures. As alternative portraits of place, the six Selborne Hanger soil paintings allow the site to speak for itself. They directly reflect the history, the climate and the variety of soils that cover the Hanger.

Showing: 'Ground 1' by Mary Waltham, from the series, Soils of local Ancient Woodland
‘Ground 1’, Mary Waltham: Soils of local Ancient Woodland, 2025.
“... the soil of any one place makes its own peculiar and inevitable sense. It is impossible to contemplate the life of the soil for very long without seeing it as analogous to the life of the spirit.” (Berry, 1977)6

“Soil, like fossil fuels took eons to develop and it too cannot be replaced…By giving soil its own agency it is elevated to an aesthetic form.” (Waltham, 2022a)7
‘Ground 2’, Mary Waltham: Soils of local Ancient Woodland, 2025.

Soil affects everything that grows in and on it and these woodlands are home to communities of plants that thrive here where the earth is undisturbed and rich in decaying matter. Varied ground flora is a striking feature of ancient woodlands, distinguishing them from recently established woods and plantations. Many of the so-called indicator species of plants in ancient woodland flower in Spring before deciduous trees are leafed out. I am showing eight paintings of such spring flowers using watercolour layers for the series ‘Flos sylva’.

Showing: 'Bluebells', from 'Flos sylva' by Mary Waltham 2025
‘Bluebells’, from ‘Flos sylva’ by Mary Waltham. Photograph: Mary Waltham © 2025

My series of small watercolour paintings mounted on cradled birch panel reflects abstract fleeting views experienced while walking the Hangers Way, a long-distance route that runs south from Alton to join the South Downs Way.8 This footpath is a good way to encounter ancient woodland, to absorb a sense of the many who have passed here before us, the sound of many species, and if you are fortunate the melody of place. Witnesses all.

Showing: 'Hangers Way', three from the series, watercolour on cradled birch panel, by Mary Waltham 2025. Photograph: Seamus Flanagan © 2025
‘Hangers Way’, three from the series, watercolour on cradled birch panel, by Mary Waltham 2025. Photograph: Seamus Flanagan © 2025

Celebrating the local

To help orientate visitors, in the gallery we have a large-scale map of the patches of local ancient woodland we each have frequently visited and worked from, notably Selborne (top of map) and Ashford Hanger bottom).

Showing Patches of local ancient woodland in East Hampshire, from Natural England's online map of Ancient Woodland.
Patches of local ancient woodland in East Hampshire, from Natural England’s online map of Ancient Woodland.

Just outside the gallery, in the small garden, is an installation of a piece of mossy rotting wood with leaf litter. A reference to Neukom Vivarium (2006) from Mark Dion, who says of his work: “So, this isn’t really about the tree, even though the tree is the superstar. It’s really about what’s happening to the tree, about the process of decay…. the wonder of the vast complexity and diversity within a natural system”.9

The log is positioned at just the right height for a 7-year-old to look closely and spot all the life teeming on the log through the richness of decay.

A small café at Allen Gallery is the setting for ‘A Celebration of Place’, a series of forty vibrant photographs taken on-site by the artists. These are exquisite reminders of place and a further invitation to find and visit ancient woodland, and to really look.

Showing 'A celebration of place', forty pieces installed in the cafe at the Allen gallery. Photograph by Seamus Flanagan 2025
‘A celebration of place’, forty pieces installed in the cafe at the Allen gallery. Photograph: Seamus Flanagan © 2025

Our work on ancient woodland is anchored and guided by generous expert advice from two lifelong landscape professionals who have worked extensively in stewardship and management roles in these woodlands. Chris Webb and David Ball have been in on this exploration of place by me and Jackie from the beginning, providing both of us with essential knowledge, their experience, and facts that have enabled us to feel confident about the truths we present. Any errors of interpretation are entirely our own.

We hope that one outcome from our show is increased understanding of the importance of rare and special ancient woodland.

Responses from visitors have been positive and encouraging – always a plus:

“What an inspiring celebration of place. I have learnt to look at a familiar landscape in an entirely new way”

“A beautiful exhibition to stumble upon. A highlight of my trip to this gorgeous county”

“We loved the birch panel artwork and the moody monoprints. We also enjoyed hearing the birdsong in the gallery as we enjoyed the art. Thank you.”

“Love the birdsong! Inspiring works – love the way the soils are ageing, and the ‘Hangers Way’ watercolour works are enchanting. Thank you.”


Mary’s references:

  1. Selborne Local Landscape Character Assessment (2014)
  2. Gilbert White (1789) The Natural History of Selborne (2006 Penguin Classics edition, edited by Richard Mabey.)
  3. Jeff Malpas (2017) Heidegger and the Thinking of Place: Explorations in the Topology of Being (The MIT Press).
  4. Natural England, Ancient Woodland (England) online map.
  5. Woodland Trust, ancient woodland as one of the many woodland and related habitats across the UK.
  6. Wendell Berry (1977) The Unsettling of America: Culture and Agriculture (Counterpoint).
  7. Mary Waltham (2022a) Case Study: Daro Montag and This Earth. Unpublished.
  8. The Hangers Way, Hampshire.
  9. In this Art 21 interview, “Neukom Vivarium”, Mark Dion discusses his 2006 installation.

Find more

Mary and Jackie’s exhibition Ancient Woodland: A Celebration of Place is on view at the Allen Gallery in Alton, Hampshire until 20th September 2025. There is a free event, Why Ancient Woodland? In Conversation with the Artists, on Saturday 13th September (limited spaces: booking essential).

Mary Waltham
Mary Waltham
An artist whose work reflects a powerful interest in and curiosity about expressing the fragility of our environment through the eyes of both scientist and artist ...

We are Creatures – a Story of Mayhem with Masks

Artist and writer Nicky Saunter shares her recent photographic exhibition and the artist-activist collaboration that brought the wild into our city streets, revealing humans as creatures in a world that allows less space than ever for the natural.


1,560 words: estimated reading time = 6 minutes


Back in the mists of time during the first pandemic lockdown, I became involved with a bunch of local creative people who were also into drumming and protesting about climate change with Extinction Rebellion. As a small group of enthusiastic activists based in a small west Somerset rural town, we were conscious that if we were to invest the time, energy and money in travelling to London to join other protesters, we should make it worthwhile by making as big an impact as possible. Hence the idea to make big animal masks that would transform us into creatures other than humans. We wanted to take nature into the protest and chose to become native animals that we saw in our countryside.

We are creatures: supported in a web of life

Sadly, today there is often more wildlife in cities and towns than in our increasingly sterile and denuded landscape. We rarely see large mammals such as foxes, insects are few around sprayed crop fields and amphibians are struggling with a lack of ponds. A study published by Buglife in 2020 showed that insects are in steep decline worldwide – with an average loss of over 8% per decade. Studies using other methods have produced even higher figures for insect population decline of over 2% per year. And we cannot survive without insects, for they form a critical part of the global food chain and maintain the soils we need to grow our food. There are some long words in the pyramid chart below, but you get the message: we need a lot of insect life at the bottom in order to support our food system at the top. For example, three-quarters of our food crops depend on insects for pollination. Without them we won’t survive for long.

“But man is a part of nature, and his war against nature is inevitably a war against himself.”
– Rachel Carson (Scientist and author of Silent Spring, the book that brought the dangers of pesticides to the general public in the 1960s.

Source: Buglife, ‘We are losing 9% of insects per decade’ https://www.buglife.org.uk/news/we-are-losing-9-of-insects-per-decade/

Here is a BBC Ideas film that explains it really well too – and with beautiful animation and a voiceover by the brilliant bee man Dave Goulson: Why insects are so crucial to life on Earth | BBC Ideas.

With the help of a fellow local artist, Jenni Dutton, who is extremely skilled in both creating and teaching, we made a range of masks that went on parades, demonstrations and protests around the country. It is amazing what can be made from corrugated cardboard boxes, newspaper, glue and paint. From the fox to the frog, the owl to the dragonfly, these creatures came alive and danced and drummed alongside the humans. They brought a little of the wild into our city streets. It felt like a reminder of our ecological crisis, which was often forgotten in the headlines of carbon, energy and climate. After all, humans are just one of the many creatures affected by climate change, although we are the only ones to have caused it.

When people disappeared

There is less space than ever for wildlife in our world today. More concrete and less earth, more chemicals and fewer insects. In the pandemic, without the endless noise of machinery and traffic, many of us heard the birds again and some experienced the dawn chorus for the first time. People saw some strange and wonderful sights as animals wandered fearlessly into spaces usually occupied by humans, like car parks and city streets. Security cameras caught bemused-looking deer wondering where the humans had all gone. It was surprising how quickly the wildlife found its feet and began to use paths and places long abandoned to people.

We talk endlessly about our need for connection with nature, but it feels as if this is always on our own terms. The wild is fabulous in the right place at the right time, leaving no mess and creating no inconvenience for humans. Mud must stay in the field — although of course it runs down the road as the rate of rainfall increases and blocks our drains. Weeds must stay out of gardens so that plants we choose to call flowers can flourish, since they might be weak and easily overcome if left to fend for themselves. Animals that are potentially dangerous, from the snake to the wolf, are banished, hunted, slaughtered in a range of grisly ways and treated as unworthy of life in comparison with humans. Creatures that we find unappealing or are too good at surviving alongside us and our mess are designated as ‘vermin’. I wonder if — according to the data of who is a real danger to who and how much filth they each create — if we aren’t perhaps the ultimate vermin. Superrats even. After all, we are also creatures.

Wearing an animal mask for a street protest was an interesting experience, as from inside we could see the reactions of people around us. Some laughed, lots took photos, many smiled and children often waved or held out their hands. Recognition was immediate and response warm — something animals help us to do is to connect with each other, perhaps? I think of the ease with which dog walkers start conversations and even become friends with someone they would otherwise just pass in a park or street.

Black and white

There is something about monochrome photography that gets to the very essence of a thing. I don’t know why this is, but time and again, I see the impact of black and white images cut through the constant colour and clatter of today’s busy world and strike at the heart of the matter. This is particularly true of portraits, and therefore my choice to make a series of monochrome photographic prints of people wearing animal masks at night going about their business in our local small town.

The very first image was a take on the Beatles album cover on the zebra crossing at Abbey Road. It was a cold winter night and we had fun arranging ourselves artfully across the road, only to have to scuttle out of the way when cars came along — just like real animals. The final image was both funny and poignant too — people-creatures trying to claim back some space in our world. 

We are creatures: Showing 'Crossing the zebra' a photograph by Nicky Saunter.
Crossing the zebra. Photograph: Nicky Saunter © 2025

I went on to take a series of ten images, imagining what might happen at night in a town as creatures show their faces in our human spaces. They are strong, confident and do not seem frightened of us. Have they come to take over? Or are they our almost forgotten selves walking the streets as we lie sleeping in our beds? Some are funny, and others are creepy or disturbing.

These images became part of an exhibition in a studio at East Quay in Watchet, an amazing art venue created by a local group of people called The Onion Collective. The main building houses national exhibitions, often with a local connection or collaboration, while several containers outside house artists’ studios. My exhibition was in one of these, loaned by the Somerset conceptual artist Jenni Dutton.

We are creatures: Showing 'Barn owl and ivy wall' a photograph by Nicky Saunter.
Barn owl and ivy wall. Photograph: Nicky Saunter © 2025
We are creatures: Showing 'Frog in the launderette' a photograph by Nicky Saunter.
Frog in the launderette. Photograph: Nicky Saunter © 2025

One of the things that visitors commented on most was how the combination of my statement and photos challenged their view of their own connection to nature. As we are in a rural area, many people recalled the pandemic quiet and how they took walks and saw wildlife differently — and how that had disappeared again so quickly once ‘normal’ life resumed. I had written about how my images intend to ask us to think differently about ourselves as animals and about the rest of the natural world that surrounds us and yet remains invisible in our daily lives. We see a beautiful vista, the blossom on a tree or enjoy the sound of birdsong, but rarely notice an ancient lichen, a pondskater on a forgotten pool or the perfection of a dandelion seed head. Our filters are set by our culture, which values some things randomly over others. Most of them need challenging.


Nicky Saunter is a writer and artist who uses mostly monochrome photography as part of her practice. She focuses on emotional connection to issues of the day, from women’s rights and colonialism to water pollution. She often features nature and in particular the wildlife of Somerset. More of her work — including the We Are Creatures series — can be seen at Through the Window. 

You can read the Buglife report Nicky mentions in this April 2020 post at their site: We are losing 9% of insects per decade.

Nicky mentions multimedia artist Jenni Dutton and you can explore her work here. And you can find out more about the work of the Onion Collective, a place-based social enterprise in the small coastal town of Watchet in Somerset, “working to reconfigure economics from the perspective of our attachments to community, culture, nature and the future we hope for.”

Nicky Saunter
Nicky Saunter
A practical activist, campaigner, social entrepreneur and artist with a particular focus on communication, between people and between humans and the rest of the natural world.

River / Run – Waterbodies from Dorset to Findhorn Bay

Poet and campaigner Fiona Moore finds joy and celebration alongside loss in fellow ecopoet Helen Moore’s river / run, a collection of long-form poems exploring a living ecology, history and language shared with waterbodies and our fellow animals.


1,930 words: estimated reading time = 7.5 minutes

NB: If reading on a phone, you might want to allow it to rotate the page and read as landscape rather than portrait, to maintain the format for the excerpts from the poems.


If a river is long-form water, then a long poem can run like a river. Ecopoet Helen Moore has written a trilogy of long-form river poems, set in Dorset and north-east Scotland. They explore ecology, history and language, and the plight of Atlantic Salmon. (I’ll follow Moore’s practice of capitalising all living beings.)

But is river ever singular, or is that a superficial, simplistic human concept, foreshadowing exploitation? Here’s what the river networks say in the poem ‘Dorset Waterbodies, a Common / weal’:

Don’t call us ‘river’
            as if we were singular - 
                 a blue, serpentine line on a map,
                                    an ‘s’ from source to estuary;
                                                                  an abstraction                       
                                                  to be navigated, straightened. 
                                                                  fished, dredged.

Opening a book of ecopoetry, even the most ecologically minded reader may think: will I feel preached at? Moore deftly avoids this in the passage above by allowing the water to speak and question our assumptions. The reader may also ask: will dread overcome me, or will there be some joy? river / run contains joy in the energy and diversity of water, its inhabitants and landscapes, alongside the dread and the pain of loss.

Showing the cover of 'river / run' (2024) by Helen Moore, published by Cape Farewell Books. Artwork by Animate Earth Collective
‘river / run’ (2024) by Helen Moore, published by Cape Farewell Books. Artwork: Animate Earth Collective

Findhorn – northern flow and flight

Joy also comes from the liveliness of the text – the varied, energising forms it takes, and the way description engages all the senses. Moore crafts her poems to embody riverine flow and eddy. The writing has a kinesthetic effect, if that’s the right way to say you feel it’s moving you along (often fast) and around. I found this most effective in the opening poem, ‘Findhorn Bay: Waves of Flow & Flight’. Even on a map this bay, east of Inverness, is an astonishing landscape. The poem begins “Tide pouring into the Bay as if through the neck/ of a wineskin -” and shows the impact:

Incoming waves flowing past boatsheds, The Captain’s Table, 
houses hunched against north-east winds -

           down past the Kirk, rippling over sand- & mudflats,
           brine filling the rough-stitched ‘Gut’ of salt-marsh,
           swelling it with the wine of Life. 

It’s a largely benign flow, but hugely powerful; the poem doesn’t need to remind us explicitly how destructive water can be, as part of the forces we’re letting loose while we fail to address climate emergency.

Showing 'River Findhorn', photo by David Buckland 2024
River Findhorn. Photo: David Buckland © 2024

The wineskin metaphor’s a rarity, all three poems being mostly deep in the ‘real’ world. As well as the movement of tide, rivers and burns, ‘Findhorn Bay’ describes two long journeys and a short one, first the ancient migration of Wild Salmon “sacred to Picts & Celts”, with “Miocene eyes”. Their route is extremely challenging, “from furthest Atlantic… through kelp forests, storms, gyres,” until the “leaps of faith” as they struggle upriver in Scotland. But

For every hundred Salmon that leave our rivers now,
less than five return. 

river / run includes photos by David Buckland, one depicting Wild Salmon infested by Sea Lice, spread by fish-farm escapees. It’s painful to look at. 

Pink-foot Geese take the second journey, and the poem shifts from the speaker’s viewpoint on ground

& the sky suddenly wrinkled, filled with tremulous lines
as if the weathermen had pencilled in the air-waves,
these marvellous patterns converging on the Bay.

Hairs on my skin rise spontaneously to meet them,
& in my chest, heart is a full crimson sail.

to imagining their summer in the far north and migration route back to Scotland, “following star-maps in their brains”. Apart from the “dragon flare of gas at Sullom Voe” these passages are exhilarating (heart as a sail, another rare, wonderful metaphor) until, arrived at Findhorn,

A dozen Pinkfeet stir, 
    beating hearts, 
  lifting, honking....

                                                  Pop! Pop! Pop!
                                                  Explosions of shots
                                                  ring out, shattering the calm - 

a slaughter begins. The unexpectedness delivers a jolt. Loosely indented text is shocked into two columns, straight-justified: geese dying on the left, shooters opposite. The anger comes through, and we’ve been flying with the geese and share it. 

  Most shooters travel
  long-distance for ‘action’
  they film & boast
  on YouTube channels - 

  600 miles to Findhorn Bay
  GREAT SPOT
  FOR SPORT - - - - - - -

The narrative turns to the human inhabitants’ perspective, from strongly against to appreciating the income the shooters bring, and the rights (or not) of Nature. 

Showing Pictish stone carving of goose and salmon in the National Museum of Scotland, 7th Century. Photo by Helen Moore © 2024.
Pictish stone carving of goose and salmon in the National Museum of Scotland, 7th Century. Photo by Helen Moore © 2024.

All this is done in three pages with a lot of white space for the reader’s own thoughts. The whole poem is only 12 pages long: rich in descriptive language and packed full of references, yet concise. Its last, short journey is a farm-to-farm route that Findhorn fishwives used to take, trading herring from their creels for cheese, eggs etc. It’s written in short prose paragraphs – a walk, at human speed. “Who are the descendants of these tough women? What tenacity of character, what knowing in their blood?” This idea of instinctive, inherited knowing likens the women to Salmon or Geese. The speaker’s rucksack becomes a creel:

... will a future culture come to honour Nature’s teachers, incise Goose & Salmon in their hearts? In my creel I’m placing all the man-made rubbish. There is no place for it in this cauldron of Life. 

Nature and culture – an ecopoetic palimpsest

‘Findhorn Bay’ was written for the Findhorn Bay Arts Festival. The other two poems were commissions from Cape Farewell, centring on Dorset river systems, as part of the RiverRun project “that connects Cape Farewell’s scientific partners with local farmers and artists… [on] the poor state of freshwater”. All three poems are divided into sections with titles, to help the reader follow the structure.

Showing The Wye x4. 40cm x 40cm mixed media. The canvases were immersed and part created by the River Wye over a period of weeks. Art: Jim Murray.
The Wye x4. 40cm x 40cm mixed media. The canvases were immersed and part created by the River Wye over a period of weeks. Art: Jim Murray

In her introduction, as well as helpful context for each poem, Moore explains her method: an interdisciplinary, collaborative, intuitive approach, with “roots in animistic European traditions”, alongside “gleanings” while out in Nature, engagement with scientists and others, and research into the many aspects of a landscape from geology to social history. She describes how from all this “the writing ferments and emerges as a poetic palimpsest”. When you read the poems, this makes perfect sense – and so it does that, she says, they take a long time to write. Other writers can imagine what the work might involve: choosing which material to use and how, ordering it, editing down and down, touching on themes often just in a short phrase, trusting the reader to do the work and make connections. 

‘Dorset Waterbodies’, the middle poem, takes varyingly indented forms, all across the page, to score the rhythm. I particularly liked the sections where other voices speak: the water (see opening quote) and its creatures. In ‘Nightmare slurry spill’, Fish and industrially farmed Cows speak in a loose pantoum, whose semi-repeated lines convey a powerful sense of claustrophobia: the Fish can’t breathe, and “Overcrowded Cows… feet in piss & shit” are unnaturally confined. As a whole, I wasn’t quite as swept along by this poem as by ‘Findhorn Bay’, but that’s by a very high standard. The introductory section, describing a visit to Durdle Door, captures a sense of post-lockdown relief, though empty cruise ships are “squatting the horizon… ticking over” (the filthy bunker fuel, the emissions, the waste!). It celebrates the new tourists’ diversity:

                & crowds of colour           break
                                                                the monotony
                                   of white, rural         m o n o c u l t u r e s.

Moore uses spaced-out letters to emphasise a few key words in this poem. I stumbled over these; maybe that’s the intention, but I’m not sure they add to what the form and language already do.

The poem ends with the river (“if you must make us ‘river’”) making the case for human respect and restoration, “the right to self-determine”. The descriptions of river life are beautiful, from Dippers and Dragonflies to Waterweeds to

                                       our single-celled beings
                                                 constellate    like s t a r s ...

The conclusion might have more impact in performance, perhaps less so on the page, however fervently we agree:

                                          let’s be communities of diverse voices
                                with a common future.

                                          A communion of subjects & one 
                                                             Commonweal

This kind of writing is so, so hard to do, even in a riverine voice – which, here, seems to shift a little from river towards human.

Dorset – southern spells and celebration

‘Edge of Wild River’, the third and shortest poem, begins with a dream of a Salmon. Moore explains in the introduction she dreamt it while living in difficult circumstances in Sydney, with the terrible 2019/20 bushfires raging. The Salmon collides with her, “like being struck by a waterlogged pillow”. “What has she to say?” 

Apart from the dream, in prose sentences with breaks, this poem is all written in short-lined verses, left-justified. The tone is song-like, spell-like, as if to will a different future into being. In ‘Water Blessing’ voices ask for forgiveness for pollution:

We this grey wreckage 
dumped on the bend in spate;
we the old bones of trees,
the breeze, swimmer, floating leaf ...

Human healers are celebrated: the scientists, litter pickers and amateur water testers.  Ecologists studying water samples and counting River Shrimps

                                            listen 
to sounds from underwater hydrophones - 
eerie bubbles, clicks, and echoes
bouncing off the sterile walls - 
Showing 'Dart, 2018' - still from the performance film by Hanien Conradie
Showing ‘Dart, 2018’ – still from the performance film by Hanien Conradie.

In a 2022 interview Helen Moore gave to Kathryn Alderman, on the Ink Sweat & Tears website, she was asked if there’s a difference between nature poetry and ecopoetry:

“Ecopoetry for me is all about consciousness. Consciousness of our deep interconnection with our planetary home and of our humanimal nature. Awareness too of the paradigm that has created our disconnection in Western cultures, and the power structures that have a vested interest in maintaining our disempowered state.” 

river / run puts these principles into action, but subtly, using the power of description, form and language. ‘Edge of Wild River’ ends with a couplet that sums up the book’s passionate message [poet’s ellipses]:

as we help wild river heal,
so we help and heal ourselves ...

Find more

Helen Moore’s river / run (2024) is published by Cape Farewell Books. Cape Farewell produces opportunities for artists, scientists and communities to work together: “by creating art founded in scientific fact, our projects highlight humanity’s destructive impact on the earth and inspire people to act towards a sustainable cultural shift.” As Fiona explains, two of the book’s poems form part of Cape Farewell’s RiverRun project, which interrogates the environmental impact of the way the Dorset land is farmed, and the impact on the rivers and waters that feed Poole Bay.

You can explore more of Helen’s work at her website — where you can also listen to her reading Findhorn Bay, Waves of Flow & Flight, the poem created for the Findhorn Bay Arts Festival 2018, with a soundtrack by VisionSonic.

Helen Moore is also a member of ClimateCultures and has written posts for us, including The Start of Something Going Wrong, her review of fellow member Joanna Guthrie‘s collection, Her Whereabouts. In The Ghosts of Fleas, her post for the Finding Blake website, she shares and discusses her poem inspired by William Blake’s 1819 painting, ‘The Ghost of a Flea’.

Fiona mentions Helen’s Ink Sweat & Tears interview. You can read that here.

Fiona Moore’s collection, Okapi (2024) is available from Blue Diode Press, and you can find her on Instagram at fionamoore555.

All images from the book, river / run. The final image is a still from a film by ClimateCultures members, Hanien Conradie and Margaret LeJeune. You can read Writing on Water, Hanien’s post discussing the film of her performance in the River Dart and reading Afrikaner poet Eugene Marais’s Diep Rivier.

Fiona Moore

Fiona Moore

A poet, editor and environmental campaigner, whose second book, 'Okapi', is a book-length eco-poem. She has edited issues of Magma Poetry on climate change and islands.

Where Waters and Fictions Meet

Writer and curator Mary Woodbury shares eight novels about water where fact and fiction mingle, tied by imagination, to reveal important truths about our shifting relationships with this vital and lively agent in an era of climate crisis.


1,700 words: estimated reading time = 7 minutes


According to UN Water, an organization of international parties working on water issues, water is the primary medium through which we will face the effects of climate change. Warming temperatures in oceans means that species not capable of adapting will migrate or die out, which harshly affects ocean ecosystems. Water has become more scarce globally. Meanwhile, extreme weather patterns that cause droughts, floods, wildfires, increase in air temperatures, and other conditions point to low-income communities being affected the worst by health and food insecurity, political instability, the increase of changing disease environments, and altered snow and ice patterns—things that are already happening all around the world.

While facts are something we can and should pay attention to as we follow scientific integrity, models, and reports, another mode of telling the story about water has been alive forever: churned, spoken, and written by authors who dream up fictional stories related to our past, present, and future world. Where fact and fiction mingle like this is an area of reflection and speculation, tied by imagination. These tales of water ripple out once the pebble sinks in. The intersectionality of diverse water fiction results in reader empathy, learning, inspiration, and shared commonalities around the world. Local dignity comes alive against a backdrop of planetary crises.

Here are eight such stories.

Land-Water-Sky (Ndè-Tı-Yat’a) by Katłıà

About water: cover of Land-Water-Sky novelA debut novel by Dene author Katłıà, this story imagines the very beginnings of water, land, and sky—from time immemorial—and is set in Canada’s Northwest Territories. The author draws upon legendary characters, including spirits, beasts, a shapeshifter known as Nąą́hgą, and humans who have heard and passed down the narratives.

Because the novel starts long ago, a pristine natural landscape fills its pages, including fresh and clean water, which was abundant before the colonization of lands and people. Told in a lineage of short stories, the novel also fast-forwards to the near future, where a group of teenagers is haunted by past inter-generational trauma. Land-Water-Sky reminds us of our connection to water as well as of the dignity of Indigenous people who still uphold and respect these entities.

Oil on Water by Helon Habila

About water: cover of Oil on Water novelThe novel is set in the Niger Delta, which consists of nine states in southern Nigeria, fed by the Niger River, on the banks of the Gulf of Guinea and the Atlantic Ocean. This area has three major deltas (western, central, and eastern) and is home to one of the highest density-packed populations in the world, around thirty million. Oil on Water reminds of us of how water and oil do not mix. Rich oil barons settle in the delta and take what they want, ruining local people’s homes, water, land, flora, and fauna. Two journalists, Rufus and his boss Zaq, travel to the delta to report on the kidnapping of a British oil executive’s wife. The journalists try to capture the story, not just of the mystery but of the people living there. 

The author stated that the novel was based upon the Niger Delta uprisings. Because the water surrounding the delta has been traditionally so integral to the people, and then is stolen, Oil on Water is a story of tragedy and loss, so riveting as to cause heartbreak.

A Diary in the Age of Water by Nina Munteanu

About water: cover of A Diary in the Age of Water novelThe author is a Canadian ecologist and is deeply knowledgeable about water in all its forms. A Diary in the Age of Water is a lyrical polemic about the future of our water. Engaging, educational, and flowing, like water on the page, the story follows a fictional memoir about a limnologist dealing with unjust politics at work and in the world, dwindling water, her independent and headstrong daughter, her own aging, and the mystery of a strange girl.

This is the definitive novel about all things water. Each chapter starts with a fact related to water, which gets drawn out to a metaphor happening within the chapter. Written in the style of a diary, the story is personable. Munteanu communicates well as a scientist and breaks down complex ideas and information into understandable prose. By the time you’re finished, you’ll know more about water than ever before.

The Water Knife by Paolo Bacigalupi

About water: cover of The Water Knife novelThis novel, set in the Southwestern United States, is also fiction, but it seems inspired by actualities in a what-if-we-continued-this-way scenario. Climate change continues to produce drought and wildfires, which dangerously deplete water supplies. Set in the near future, the novel has Angel Velasquez, working for his boss Catherine Case and acting as a ‘water knife,’ a person who controls water supplies and sabotages competitors. Other characters, Lucy and Maria, join the suspenseful thriller in a desperate search for water.

This cautionary tale is a reminder that our ecological systems are at stake. Reuters recently stated that, according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA), the Southwestern US drought is the worst it’s been in a century and is linked to climate change. Yesterday’s science fiction is today’s reality.

Memory of Water by Emmi Itäranta

About water: cover of Memory of Water novelMemory of Water is not just about future people’s memory of a time when water was more abundant but of the memory that water has of itself. Water is a main character and shares a significant role in the novel, as meaningful, if not more, than the human characters. This is a strong trait in eco-fiction, a genre of literature that rewilds stories in a way that reminds us that we are part of an ecological web, not above or apart from it.

In the story, a young woman named Noria Kaitio feels guilty for carrying on her father’s tradition of tea master—set in the far future of the Scandinavian Union—when water is scarce enough to be rationed severely. Noria dreams of a Shangri-la type of place, where water is more than just a memory, and sets out to find it. This novel has been adapted to a movie, Veden vartija, which releases in September 2022.

Fever Dream by Samanta Schweblin

About water: cover of Fever Dream novelThis surreal, psychological novel follows a woman named Amanda in a fever dream; she has a conversation with a boy named David that, in time, breaks down the mysterious cause of deaths surrounding them. The novel was first published in 2014 and recently was adapted to film and came out on Netflix. In the novel and the film, water plays an important part of the story.

Fever Dream is an example of storytelling in which environment is key to well-being but also in which the human connection, not just to water or the wild but to other humans, is part of the ecosystem. Amanda and her neighbor, David’s mother Carla, are connected by their children; they try to figure out what has gone wrong with David. David and Amanda have a lengthy conversation about what happened to him, but David insists that she must remember all the details of the recent past to truly get it. This haunting, beautiful story takes place in Argentina.

Lagoon by Nnedi Okorafor

cover of Lagoon novelScience fiction and fantasy are modes of storytelling that remind us of our connection to the environment around us. A subgenre of African-focused science fiction, called Africanfuturism, imagines worlds set in the continent of Africa. Lagoon is set in Lagos, Nigeria.

In a recent talk that Nnedi had with Arizona State University’s Matt Bell’s creative writing class, students asked about the writing process for the novel. The author stated that she had the idea as a response to what she thought was not a good representation of Africans in the alien invasion movie District 9, set in Johannesburg. She wondered—what if aliens landed in Lagos, a city by the sea? Water is integral to Lagos and to the story of Lagoon. The ocean environment is important, and the author decided to combine a story of aliens with legendary sea creatures in order to tell a more representative story of Africa’s people, myths, culture, and future.

Bangkok Wakes to Rain by Pitchaya Sudbanthad

cover of Bangkok Wakes to Rain novelAn epic story, with a large timeline and big cast of characters, the novel is a beautifully written elegy to Bangkok’s collective memory, a fluid piece of place-writing and period pieces, magically woven together and coalescing in the city of Bangkok.

The novel moves around characters connected to each other: including a missionary doctor, a post-WWII society woman, a jazz pianist, and more. The author has spoken of the city of Bangkok as a “low-lying amphibious capital city with extensive networks of waterways, before much of it was contorted from its nature to match humankind’s trivial ambition of capital growth.” Tie that with climate change, which brings sea rise and floods.


Find out more

This article first appeared in Italian in the journal TELLŪS 2-2021 as Otto romanzi ci ricordano del nostro legame fondamentale con l’Acqua: Eight Novels Remind of us Our Crucial Connection with Water.

While hundreds more fictional stories featuring water exist, these are just eight that Mary has selected to introduce readers to the idea of how fiction and water mingle. To view more such tales, check out Dragonfly.eco, which Mary created and curates and has a database of nearly 1,000 novels, short stories, and other fiction related to our evolving planet, its physical landscapes and natural wonder, and the threats that our ecosystems face. Dragonfly.eco celebrates its tenth anniversary this August.

And you can also read Mary’s previous posts for ClimateCultures, including her two-part History of Eco-fiction.

You can find out more about the eight books from the authors’ or publishers’ sites:

You can read UN Water’s summary on the impacts of climate change on the world’s water systems here.

Mary Woodbury
Mary Woodbury
A fiction writer, researcher and curator of websites exploring ecology in fiction and providing ecoliterature resources for writers.