The front door of my house has been the starting point for my two most recent books (A Downland Index and Night Blooms), a gesture that seeks to relocate the possibility of the field and its work away from the distant, the exotic and the far elsewhere.

For Soundcamp, I will close that same front door, switch on my head torch and jog down my suburban street towards the urban woods that represent the northern fringe of my town, Brighton, on the UK's south coast. Worried about the signal dropping out I will run through the woods until I reach the point where my trailcam snapped the dog fox that adorns the first page of "Night Blooms". There I will read a prose poem before continuing on to the scrubland where I saw my first glow worm and heard my first nightjar; having read another prose poem, I will return home over the golf course and through another stretch of woodland.