Since I began blogging early in 2019, I’ve often referred to the ‘madness of the modern world’. It’s how I’ve felt for a long time. But as I write today, in the autumn of 2026, I think it could safely be said that those words have never been more apt. It feels as though the world has gone into freefall, as we edge ever closer to ecological and civilisational collapse. Yet still humanity buries its collective head deep in the sand, refusing to wake up to the approaching crises, but rather pressing on regardless with its destructive ways.

My coping mechanism for the anxiety all this causes has always been to escape to the Middle Ages by studying, researching and immersing myself in the period. But in recent years things have shifted slightly, and I’ve found more and more solace in nature. It’s always been important to me, but my deepening connection with nature has given rise to a second, equally strong passion. After all, the natural world is where we are supposed to be, and despite humankind’s best efforts to control, exploit and destroy it, the fundamental, inescapable truth is that we’re a part of it. So I suppose, to an extent I’ve changed, or perhaps more accurately, I’ve evolved. That said, there is a significant link between my two great loves, and this came to the fore recently in a subtle but impactful way.

Nature is now my other, equally great love

It’s hard to beat the dappled evening light in a woodland for a much-needed dose of solace…

As someone who finds the trappings of the modern human-constructed world increasingly overwhelming, these days I prefer to live a much simpler and slower-paced life. This involves spending as much time as possible in nature, in remote places among the trees and the wildlife, where I can find relief from the relentless noise and chaos. In many ways this lifestyle change ties in well with my beloved Middle Ages; a time before social media, plastic, man-made chemicals and AI, when folk were intimately connected with the Earth and the changing seasons.

Life in the Middle Ages had it’s problems and issues, of course, but at least life was simpler and more in touch with nature.

With this year’s long and unbearably hot summer finally behind us I’ve been making more time to read, and a few weeks ago I came across a particular early medieval poem that has firmly taken root in my mind. I keep going back to it again and again, because it seems to express exactly how I feel, even over a thousand years after it was written.

My lovely old book, ‘A Celtic Miscellany’.

The poem features in old but excellent book called A Celtic Miscellany, selected and translated by Kenneth Hurlstone Jackson. There are a couple of alternative translations available online but for me, this printed version has a particular charm and magic. It’s titled The Hermit’s Hut, and it forms the lay or lai (a medieval Celtic or Breton lyrical or narrative poem) of a work called King and Hermit by an anonymous tenth century Irish author. The poem is a dialogue between King Guaire of Connacht and his brother, Prince Marvan, who has chosen a radically different lifestyle to his regal sibling. Guaire begins by asking his brother why he won’t return to live with him in the luxury of his court, and Marvan’s reply makes the lay:

‘…I have a hut in the wood, none knows it but my Lord; an ash tree this side, a hazel on the other, a great tree on a mound encloses it.

Two heathery door posts for support, and a lintel of honeysuckle; around its close the wood sheds its nuts upon fat swine.

The size of my hut, small yet not small, a place of familiar paths; the she-bird in its dress of blackbird colour sings a melodious strain from its gable.

The stags of Druim Rolach leap out of its stream of trim meadows; from them red Roighne can be seen, noble Mucraimhe and Maenmhagh [well known plains in the west of Ireland]

A hidden lowly hut, which owns the path-filled forest; will you go there with me to see it?…

A tree of apples of great bounty, …huge; a seemly crop from small-nutted branching green hazels, in clusters like a fist.

Excellent fresh springs – a cup of water, splendid to drink – they gush forth abundantly; yew berries, bird cherries…

Tame swine lie down around it – goats, young pigs, wild swine, tall deer, does, a badger’s brood.

Peaceful, in crowds, a grave host of the countryside, an assembly at my house; foxes come to the wood before it – it is delightful…

Fruits of rowan, black sloes of the dark blackthorn; foods of whorts, spare berries…

A clutch of eggs, honey, produce of heath-peas, God has sent it; sweet apples, red bog-berries, whortleberries.

Beer with herbs, a patch of strawberries, delicious abundance; haws, yew berries, kernels of nuts.

A cup of mead from the goodly hazel-bush, quickly served; brown acorns, manes of briar, with fine blackberries.

In summer with its pleasant, abundant mantle, with good-tasting savour, there are pignuts, wild marjoram, the cresses of the stream – green purity!

The songs of the bright-breasted ring-doves, a beloved movement, the carol of the thrush, pleasant and familiar above my house.

Swarms of bees, beetles, soft music of the world, a gentle humming; wild geese, barnacle geese, shortly before All Hallows, music of the dark torrent.

A nimble singer, the combative brown wren from the hazel bough, woodpeckers with their pied hoods in a vast host.

Fair white birds come, cranes, seagulls, the sea sings to them, no mournful music; brown fowl out of the red heather.

The heifer is noisy in summer, brightest of weather; not bitter or toilsome over the mellow plain, delightful, smooth.

The voice of the wind against the branchy wood, grey with cloud; cascades of the river, the swan’s song, lovely music.

A beautiful pine makes music to me, it is not hired; through Christ, I fare no worse at any time than you do.

Though you delight in your own enjoyments, greater than all wealth, for my part I am grateful for what is given me from my dear Christ.

Without an hour of quarrel, without the noise of strife which disturbs you, grateful to the Prince who gives every good to me in my hut…

The poem ends with King Guaire, having learned all about his brother’s quiet life in the woods, declaring that, actually, he’d happily give up his crown and his opulent palace to go and live with Marvan in his hut. This is the final verse, from an earlier translation by Kuno Meyer:

I would give my glorious kingship
With the share of my father’s heritage—
To the hour of my death I would forfeit it
To be in thy company, my Marvan.

Wise words, Guaire…

For when all is said and done, of the two brothers in this beautiful medieval poem, it’s Marvan that truly lives in the real world. A stress-free, peaceful life surrounded by nature’s abundance and the song of the wild. What more do we really need?

Room for one more, Marvan…?