welcome to the latest issue of hedgerow. as always grateful to contributors & readers alike. thank you all for turning up!

october’s resident artist is Alexis Rotella. if you enjoy her art, please have a peek at the link below —



with love & kindness.




she sings
on the rainswept corner
her bags
full of rubies and frogs
a green fairy plays a flute

Carole Johnston lives and writes in Lexington, Kentucky, USA, although she is from “nowhere zen.”




Bat in the belfry




her chipped mug
nothing remains


temple bell tolling the emptiness inside things


sun shower
darting this way and that
skink on the cobblestones

Mark Miller lives in a tiny seaside village on the east coast of Australia, where he has been writing haiku for many years.




Traveling to the other side




blood moon
I still
love you

Grant Savage (Marmota monax x Homo sapiens) is a WASP groundhog hybrid living in Ottawa, Canada. The more the wind and cold eat at his bones the more fat he puts on them. He loves to photograph snow!




Day of the Dead




spider silk…
to catch a river
moon shifting


horses in the dusk. . .
half-remembered dreams
of a rail journey

Alan Summers, born London, resides in Wiltshire, England and enjoys French and Indian food, and wine from France, Italy, and Spain, and a few other
places too. He enjoys both good and bad science fiction movies, and zombies in Rom Coms as well as The Walking Dead and Z Nation. Alan prefers nightmares
to dreams, and making new zombie friends. Alan’s blog: http://area17.blogspot.com







november eve dance…
in moonlight on the hill
spirits wander round
whispering this dark night
tales of endings passed

Pat Geyer lives in East Brunswick, NJ, USA. Her home is surrounded by the parks and lakes where she finds her inspiration in Nature. She is an amateur photographer and poet.




Spirits of the mountains




the art in this issue was brought to you by Alexis Rotella —

I’ve been playing with words since I was a toddler. I remember sitting
on our front stoop in Southwestern Pennsylvania with a handwritten
letter from Uncle Bill to my mother. I thought if I stared at it long
enough I would be able to read…