Original Acrylic on Board. Framed in white St Ives frame. Image size - 60cm x 75cm. Framed size - 92cm x 77cm

‘On clear nights, when the sky stretches wide and the stars seem close enough to listen, there is a place where paths cross without ever quite meeting.

It is there that the fox and the badger come face to face. They do not speak. They do not startle. The grass holds its breath around them as if the land itself understands the importance of stillness.

The fox carries the restless knowing of twilight, quick thoughts, half-formed plans, the pull of elsewhere. The badger holds the deeper weight of the earth, of burrows and memory, of things that endure unseen.

They meet only rarely, and always by chance. A moment borrowed from the night, balanced between movement and rest. Nose to nose beneath a sky stitched with light, they recognise something familiar in one another, not kinship, but understanding. Then, as quietly as they arrived, they part. The fox slips back into shadow. The badger returns to the dark beneath the ground.

The stars remain, keeping their counsel, as they always have.’

Kelly Stevens-McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Framed size - 73.5cm x 73.5cm

‘There was once a goldfinch who became convinced that pieces of the sun were falling into the meadow.  He found the first one caught amongst the thistles, a tiny flash of brilliant yellow shining between the leaves.  So he took it.  The next day he found another.

Soon the goldfinch spent every morning searching the fields and hedgerows for these little fragments of sunlight, gathering them wherever he could find them.  The other birds thought this was ridiculous.

“You cannot collect the sun," they told him.  But the goldfinch continued. 

All summer he searched, until one evening he realised that the days were growing shorter and the meadow had begun to lose its colour.  He looked at everything he had gathered and suddenly understood what he must do.  He tucked the pieces of sunlight beneath his wings.  That is where they have remained ever since.

And through the greyest days of winter, when the meadow has almost forgotten what summer looked like, the goldfinch still carries a little of its brightness with him.

Which is why, if you see a sudden flash of yellow amongst the branches, you may just have spotted The Gatherer of Gold.’

Kelly Stevens-McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Framed size - 73.5cm x 73.5cm

‘Nobody has ever quite managed to persuade the long-tailed tit to stay in one place.  The old stories say that once, many years ago, she tried.

She found a beautiful corner of the woodland, built herself a perfect little nest and decided that from then on she would live exactly as sensible birds were supposed to.  For three whole days, she was very happy.

On the fourth, she heard birds calling somewhere beyond the trees.  By lunchtime she had gone to investigate.

Since then she has travelled the hedgerows and gardens in the company of whoever happens to be going her way.  She knows every gap in every fence, every sheltered branch and every garden where the feeders are filled before breakfast.  But she never stays for long.

Some say she is searching for the place she heard calling to her all those years ago.  Others think she simply enjoys finding out what lies beyond the next hedge. 

The Little Wanderer has never offered an explanation.  She is usually already somewhere else.’

Kelly Stevens-McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas Board. Framed in white frame. Image size - 60cm x 75cm. Framed size - 92cm x 77cm

‘No one sees the fox arrive. That’s not how this fox works.

One moment the garden is still with leaves holding their breath, colour settling into place. And the next there’s movement, a warm streak of copper slipping through the ferns like a thought that won’t stay put.

The fox does not pause to explain itself. It moves because movement feels right. Because there are places to be, even if they can’t quite be named. Some paths only exist while you’re running them.

Flowers brush against fur. Leaves bend and spring back. The garden barely has time to notice what’s passed through it, only that something has shifted, light has rearranged, air stirred, silence changed shape.

Those who catch a glimpse of the fox are never quite sure what they saw. Just colour. Just motion. Just a sudden sense that something beautiful doesn’t always stay long enough to be understood. The fox knows this already.

It runs not to escape, but to remain true to itself - untethered, instinctive, impossible to pin down. Stillness belongs elsewhere. This fox belongs to the in-between moments. The almost-there. The just-missed. And then it’s gone.

Leaving only the ferns swaying gently, and the quiet feeling that something wonderful passed through, quickly, deliberately, and exactly when it meant to.’

Kelly Stevens-McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Framed size - 73.5cm x 73.5cm

‘There is an old belief that every river chooses one creature to know all its secrets.

Not the fish, because they know only what lies beneath the water.  Not the heron, because he is far too interested in his lunch.  And certainly not the ducks, who have never been particularly good at keeping secrets.  The river chose the kingfisher.

It gave him the blue of its deepest pools, the brightness of sunlight upon water and a flash of orange taken from the evening sky.

In return, the kingfisher promised to watch over everything that passed beneath his branch.

He knows where the trout hide beneath the roots.  He knows where the river runs deepest and where the banks will flood after heavy rain.  He knows every fallen tree, every hidden pool and every path the water has taken since long before people began giving places names.  But he tells no one.  He simply sits above the water, watching.

And every now and then there is a sudden streak of impossible blue, and he disappears along the river carrying all its secrets with him.

The River Prince has other places to be.’

Kelly Stevens-McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Image Framed size - 94cm x 94cm

‘Long ago, when the moon hung low over the wild Devon moors, two hares emerged from the mist, their fur silvered by moonlight.

They were not ordinary hares but spirits of the land, locked in an eternal duel to decide the turn of the seasons.

One, swift as the west wind, fought for the wild abundance of summer; the other, fierce as the biting frost, sought to summon the long hush of winter.

Each full moon, they met beneath the sky’s great lantern, their battle sending ripples through the heather, while the watching moor held its breath.

 It is said that those who witness their fight may glimpse the secret balance of nature - where life and death, light and dark, are forever entwined in the dance of the Moorland Duel.’

Kelly Stevens-McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Framed size - 73.5cm x 73.5cm

‘Long ago, when the hedgerows were still young, the birds were allowed to take whatever they wished from them.  Most chose quickly.  The blackbirds claimed the fallen fruit, the finches gathered seeds, and the thrushes took anything they could reach and argued about the rest.  But the bullfinch waited.

He had noticed that when winter came, there were always creatures who had forgotten to prepare.  Small birds arrived hungry, field mice searched beneath frozen leaves, and sometimes even the fox came nosing along the hedge in hope of finding something left behind.  So the bullfinch made an agreement with the hedgerow.

He would watch over its berries through the year, and in return the hedge would always keep a few hidden amongst its deepest branches.  Not for the strongest or the quickest, but for whoever needed them most. 

It is said that this is why the bullfinch wears red upon his breast.  The hedgerow gave him the colour of its brightest berries so that every creature would know its keeper.  Even now, he can sometimes be seen sitting quietly amongst the leaves, saying very little and watching everything.

And somewhere behind him, tucked safely out of sight, there will always be one last berry.’

Kelly Stevens-McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Framed size - 95cm x 95cm

‘There is an orchard hidden deep beyond the edges of the ordinary woods, a place few ever find and even fewer remember clearly afterward. By day it appears quiet and unremarkable, tangled with leaves and heavy with shadow. But at midnight, the garden awakens.

Flowers unfold in rich velvet colours. The trees shimmer with amber fruit that glows softly in the dark. And from the deepest part of the orchard, the owl emerges.

No one knows exactly how long she has lived there. Some say she was born from the roots of the oldest tree, others believe she simply arrived one evening and never left. She moves silently through the midnight branches, her feathers carrying the colours of dusk, autumn leaves, and fading firelight.

The orchard belongs to her.

She watches over the blossoms that only bloom beneath the moon and guards the quiet pathways that twist through the dark. The foxes lower their voices when they pass through her garden. Even the wind seems gentler beneath her gaze.

And if you are very lucky, you may catch sight of her for a moment between the flowers,  a pale face glowing softly in the darkness before she disappears once more into the midnight orchard'.’

Kelly Stevens-McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white frame. Canvas board size - 61cm x 61cm. Framed size - 78cm x 78cm

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Framed size - 73.5cm x 73.5cm

‘In a tangle of leaves and wildflowers, hidden from the busy world beyond the hedge, lived a wren who believed herself to be queen of all she surveyed. To be fair, nobody had told her otherwise.

Each morning she would perch upon her favourite branch and inspect her kingdom. The flowers nodded in the breeze, the bees hummed among the blossoms, and the butterflies drifted lazily through the garden. The wren considered all of it to be under her careful supervision.

She was very small, but this never troubled her. In fact, she found it rather useful. She could slip through the densest foliage, appear unexpectedly in the middle of important conversations, and investigate every corner of her realm without attracting much attention. Nothing escaped her notice.

If a flower bloomed, she saw it. If a seedling appeared where none had been before, she knew about it. If a squirrel became a little too bold or a blackbird a little too noisy, the wren was there to offer her opinion. Whether anyone had asked for it or not.

And so the seasons passed, with the tiny bird ruling her patch of garden with great confidence and very little doubt.

For while others saw a hedge, a few flowers, and a scattering of branches, the wren saw something entirely different. She saw a kingdom. And she was its Small Sovereign.’

Kelly Stevens-McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Framed size - 73.5cm x 73.5cm

‘Every morning, long before the garden was fully awake, the little blue tit made his rounds.

He darted between branches, peered into hedgerows, and checked on the flowers one by one. Had the roses opened? Had the dew settled properly?  Had the sun remembered to arrive?

Only when everything was in order would he begin to sing.

The sound drifted through the trees, across the fields, and into the quiet corners where sleepy creatures were still tucked away.  It was not a grand song, nor a particularly important one, but it carried a simple message:

The day has begun, and all is well.

And so, without fuss or ceremony, the Herald of Morning announced another beautiful day to the world.’

Kelly Stevens-McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Framed size - 73.5cm x 73.5cm

‘The woodpecker spent his days knocking on trees.

To most creatures, it seemed a peculiar way to pass the time. But he wasn't simply searching for food or making noise. He was creating doorways.

Each careful tap opened a new possibility. A hollow in an old oak might one day shelter a family of blue tits. A hidden chamber in a silver birch could become a safe place for bees to rest. Even the smallest opening might offer refuge from a storm.

The woodpecker never stayed to see who moved in. Once a doorway was finished, he quietly carried on to the next tree.

Years later, the forest was filled with homes he had made, though few remembered who had created them. But the woodpecker didn't mind.

He knew that some of the most important work in the world is opening a door and trusting that someone else will find their way through it.’

Kelly Stevens-McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Framed size - 73.5cm x 73.5cm

‘The chaffinch lived where the gardens ended and the wild places began. He was often seen perched among blackthorn blossom, hopping through tangled hawthorn branches, or vanishing into clouds of cow parsley as though the hedgerow itself had swallowed him whole.

No one knew quite where he nested. It was said that the hedgerow kept his secrets.

On spring mornings he appeared dressed in his finest colours, greeting the day as though he had been invited to some grand occasion. Yet he seemed happiest in the simplest places; among seed heads, berries, and the quiet rustle of leaves.

The old sparrows liked to say that every landscape has its rightful prince. Not the loudest, nor the strongest, but the one who belongs so completely that the place would feel different without them.

And so the chaffinch became known as the Prince of Hedgerows, a small guardian of the untidy edges where beauty prefers to grow.’

Kelly Stevens-McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Canvas size - 70cm x 70cm. Framed size - 74cm x 74cm

‘The fox is not lost.  ‘It has never been lost. It stands at the meeting place between moments, where what has been and what is still to come briefly touch. The garden gathers itself around the fox, leaves and colour leaning inward as if they, too, are listening. Waiting is the fox’s work.

It waits for shifts too small to name. For choices not yet made.  For the moment when something quietly finds its way back to itself.

The fox does not chase answers. It understands that some things must arrive on their own, and that rushing them only drives them further away. Instead, it holds the space.  It stays. It remembers.

There are those who pass nearby and feel an unexpected pull.  A slowing in the chest, a soft ache they can’t quite explain. They may not notice the fox at first, but something in them recognises it. A sense that not all journeys require movement. That sometimes the bravest thing is to remain present when everything else urges escape. The fox knows this feeling well.  It has carried it for a long time.

It waits for the lost to realise they are not broken.
For the weary to understand they are not behind.
For the quiet ones to see that stillness can be a direction.

And when that understanding finally settles, when it lands gently, without drama, the fox will still be there.  Watching, holding, waiting.’

Kelly Stevens-McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas Board. Framed in black decorative frame. Framed size - 69cm x 69cm

‘In the margins of an old manuscript, pressed between vines and gold leaf, there is mention of a hare unlike any other. Not a creature of panic and flight, but one of stillness, a keeper of the pause between moments.

They called her Lepus Aureus, the Golden Hare.

She was often drawn resting within the curve of a crescent moon, as though even the night wished to frame her.

She was said to appear only when the land was in balance.  When blossoms opened without hurry. When the air held its breath. When the world, for a brief spell, remembered how to be gentle.

Those who saw her did not chase. They did not speak. To witness Lepus Aureus was not to catch something, but to be caught by it, held for a heartbeat inside a small circle of calm.

Around her, flowers grew as if arranged by careful hands, and the gold of the earth shone through the leaves. Some believed she was blessed; others believed she was the blessing. A living illumination. A sign that beauty was still possible, even in uncertain times.

In the old texts, the entry ends the same way each time:

If you are fortunate enough to meet her gaze, do not look away too quickly. Let the moment settle. Let it gild you. Then carry it quietly, as one carries a secret, back into the ordinary world.’

A modern illumination by Kelly Stevens-McLaughlan.

‘There is a place in the quiet hours of the night where the world slows and the garden begins to speak. Not loudly, of course. Gardens never shout. They whisper in the soft rustle of leaves, the slow unfurling of petals, and the gentle sway of stems reaching for the moon.

Long ago, the owl discovered this hidden grove of blue leaves and shadowed flowers. Something about it felt different, as though the plants were leaning closer, eager to share their secrets.

So she stayed.

Each night she perches silently among the branches, her wide dark eyes reflecting the moonlight. The ivy murmurs of its slow climb toward the stars. The grasses tell of wandering winds from distant fields. Even the smallest leaves carry stories of rain, soil, and passing creatures.

The owl never interrupts. She simply listens.

And when morning comes and the garden falls quiet again, she keeps its secrets safe until night returns and the whispering begins once more.’

.Kelly Stevens-McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas Board. Framed in white frame. Image size - 60cm x 75cm. Framed size - 92cm x 77cm

‘Long before the paths were named, before the land learned who should hunt and who should hide, an agreement was made.

No one remembers the words of it now, only the shape it took.

A fox and a hare sit back to back in a clearing washed pale with light. They face different horizons, alert to different things, each keeping watch in their own way. Between them there is no fear, no challenge, no need to explain. Just trust, settled and unspoken.

Some say the agreement was born of necessity. Others believe it came from understanding. The quiet recognition that not all strength looks the same, and that survival is sometimes a shared act.  Whatever its origin, it has endured. The gold flecks in the air are said to mark the places where it still holds.

Those who stumble upon them feel it instinctively: the calm of being held in balance, the reassurance of not having to face everything alone.  The fox watches the distance. The hare listens for what comes close. And together, without ever turning, they keep the world steady.’

Kelly Stevens-McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Canvas size - 70cm x 70cm. Framed size - 74cm x 74cm

Please enquire at the Gallery if you would like a commission undertaken.

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Canvas size - 70cm x 70cm. Framed size - 74cm x 74cm

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Canvas size - 70cm x 70cm. Framed size - 74cm x 74cm

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white frame. Canvas board size - 61cm x 61cm. Framed size - 78cm x 78cm

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white frame. Canvas board size - 61cm x 61cm. Framed size - 78cm x 78cm

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Canvas size - 90cm x 90cm. Framed size - 94cm x 94cm

‘He burst through the meadow as though he had dreamed it into being;  a fox not skulking nor hunting, but soaring, bounding, laughing.  His fur shimmered with colour: ribbons of ochre and crimson, saffron and rust, all caught in a glorious swirl. 

Around him, tall white blooms swayed like spectators at a parade.  Spindly flowerheads bowed under the weight of tiny buds, and down at his feet, velvet pansies turned their faces upward like children, wide-eyed with delight, and everywhere he touched seemed to bloom just a little brighter.

There was no chase, no need, no destination.  Just the exuberance of being alive in a world that was bursting with colour and scent.  His joy wasn’t hidden, it was written across the curve of his back, the lift of his paws, the way his ears flicked forward into the breeze as if to greet it like an old friend.

He didn’t just run through the flowers.

He was part of them.

A fox in full celebration of himself.

A wild and wonderful burst of Meadowjoy’.

Kelly Stevens-McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Canvas size - 90cm x 90cm. Framed size - 94cm x 94cm

‘There is a quiet valley known only to the wind and the moon, a place that appears only when the world forgets to rush. Here, in the hush of night, the flowers grow tall, reaching upward as if trying to listen to the stars. Their petals and leaves are small but radiant - golden, rose, and turquoise like brushstrokes against the darkness.  And at the centre of this shimmering stillness, sits the hare.

She is not just passing through. She belongs to the vale, or perhaps it belongs to her.  Her fur is not of ordinary thread, but stitched from curling leaves in shades of sea-green and dusk-blue, patterned with fragments of forgotten petals. Turquoise light clings to her like a secret, while gold flecks flicker across her shoulders, like pollen in moonlight or dreams taking root.

Beneath her feet bloom two great blossoms - pink, gold, and opalescent - like guardians or anchors, tethering her gently to the earth.  Around her rise the slender stems of tall golden flowers, quiet sentinels in a garden that never sleeps. They bend slightly in the breeze that doesn't quite exist, and the hare doesn’t move.  She watches.  She waits.  Perhaps for nothing.  Perhaps for everything.

Some say the vale is a resting place for thoughts too delicate for daylight.  Others say it’s a place where creatures go when they remember who they truly are.  And the hare?  She is both muse and memory, half shadow, half bloom.  A guardian of the in-between, glowing softly in the hour when all things begin to blur: leaf and fur, night and gold, dream and waking.’

 Kelly Stevens-McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Canvas size - 70cm x 70cm. Framed size - 74cm x 74cm

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Canvas size - 70cm x 70cm. Framed size - 74cm x 74cm

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Canvas size - 90cm x 90cm. Framed size - 94cm x 94cm

‘In the quiet places of the world, where wildflowers grow taller than a hare’s ears and the sky stretches wide and endless, lives a creature known as Pathfinder.

Her fur is threaded with bright, ever-shifting ribbons of colour, not born of paint or dye, but spun from the very paths she’s taken. Each ribbon tells a story: a journey through mist, a moonlit discovery, a moment of courage, a whispered secret passed through leaves. They wind and shimmer through her coat like living memory, never fading, always moving.

It is said that if you’re lost, not just in the woods, but in your life or thoughts, and you catch a glimpse of Pathfinder weaving through the stems and blossoms, you will soon find your way. She does not leave footprints, only a sudden certainty in your step, and a strand of bright colour caught on a thorn or a petal.

No one follows her trail, for no two are ever the same. She does not return the way she came. But she reminds us: there is always a way through, and beauty along the path.’

Kelly Stevens-McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Canvas size - 70cm x 70cm. Framed size - 74cm x 74cm

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Canvas size - 90cm x 90cm. Framed size - 94cm x 94cm - £1,200

‘In the hush of the turning year, when summer's last breath hangs golden in the trees, the Emberwatch Hare appears.

They say he rises only once each season’s end, from beneath the red-leafed bracken where fire meets soil. His fur burns with the colours of fading blooms—russet, crimson, and flame—and wherever he treads, the plants turn to shades of sunset, as if answering an ancient call.

The golden leaves that arc above him are said to be his canopy, ever following, ever sheltering. Some believe he keeps time for the wild world, marking the moment when light begins to lean toward winter. Others say he waits—listening for a wind that signals change.

Silent, steady, and watchful, he is the keeper of endings that bloom quietly into new beginnings.’

 Story by Kelly Stevens-McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Canvas size - 60cm x 60cm. Framed size - 65cm x 65cm - £590

In the hush of the deepest hour of night, when the stars lean low and the breeze stills to listen, the Meadow Muse stirs. She is not just a hare, but a keeper of dreams and old floral wisdom. A creature woven from twilight and the memory of blooms long faded.

It’s said she appears only in wildflower fields untouched by time, where the petals whisper forgotten tongues and the pollen hangs like stardust in the air. The flowers around her bend slightly in her presence, as though paying homage. She does not speak, but her silence hums with ancient melodies - lullabies of the soil, the roots, and the moon.

Those who see her often wake with paint on their fingers, poems in their heads, or music in their ears; touched, however briefly, by her quiet enchantment. For the Meadow Muse does not visit by chance; she chooses the ones most in need of inspiration and leaves behind only a drift of white petals and a feeling of sudden clarity.

Story by Kelly Stevens - McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in a pale green tray frame. Canvas size - 41 cm x 61cm. Framed size - 49.5cm x 64.5cm - £750

‘Beyond the iron gates of an ancient garden, where ivy curled over forgotten pathways, there lived a fox known only as the Florist.

Clad in a well-tailored coat and a waistcoat brushed with the hues of autumn, he moved through the tangled greenery with quiet purpose. Upon his head sat a weathered top hat, from its brim delicate flowers bloomed in perpetual splendour, their petals swaying as if caught in an unseen breeze.

The Florist understood the language of roots and leaves, the silent wishes of blossoms yet to bloom. Wherever he walked, the garden responded, vines bending toward his touch, petals unfurling in his shadow.

Some whispered that he had never been born at all, but instead stepped from the pages of an old botanical sketch, a creature conjured by ink, imagination, and the wild, unbroken spirit of nature itself.’

Story by Kelly Stevens - MacLaughlan.

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in a pale green tray frame. Canvas size - 41 cm x 61cm. Framed size - 49.5cm x 64.5cm - £750

‘In the same overgrown garden where the Florist walks, another fox moves with quieter purpose. Her coat is the soft green of moss in shade, and from the brim of her worn velvet hat blooms a single peach-toned rose, curled as if listening.

They call her the Green - Hatted Fox. She does not summon blossoms like her companion, but listens for the ones that bloom in secret. Where he stirs colour into life, she follows the hidden pulse beneath leaf and root.

Some say she arrived with the first frost, others that she was always there, just waiting to be seen. The garden knows her. Stones warm where she steps. Forgotten seeds remember their names.

At dusk, she and the Florist often walk together - no words, no hurry, just the soft hush of petals opening in their wake.’

Story by Kelly Stevens - McLaughlan.

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Canvas size - 60cm x 60cm. Framed size - 64cm x 64cm - £590

‘When the autumn winds sigh their last and the winter hesitates at the threshold, there comes a strange and fleeting season - the time of the Pink Fall.

In hidden glades where the sun still lingers, the trees do not shed their leaves in gold or rust, but in a flush of vivid pink, as if the earth itself has blushed at the change.

It is in this world of fleeting colour that Rosebrim appears. His paws tread softly upon the bright leaves, his fur touched with the same warmth of the fading sun.

They say he is the keeper of the in-between, a wanderer of seasons who never stays too long in any one world.

Those who catch a glimpse of him know they are standing at the edge of something rare - a moment where autumn and spring reach for one another, and time itself takes a breath before the frost settles in.’

Story by Kelly Stevens - MacLaughlan.

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Canvas size - 70cm x 70cm. Framed size - 74cm x 74cm - £750

‘When the sky blushes with the deep pink of a waking dawn, the meadow stirs with whispered stories. It is said that in the fleeting moments before the sun crests the horizon, the Dawnshadow hare appears; a creature woven from the night’s last breath and the day’s first light. Her fur blooms with flowers that drank from the stars, their petals glowing softly as they cling to her like embers of the fading dark.

 The old ones tell that she is neither bound to the night nor the day, but belongs to the edge of both. She moves silently through the meadow, the golden and pink blossoms at her feet leaning toward her passing like old friends. The sky follows her, deepening and softening, as though reluctant to lose its final touch of darkness.

 To see the Dawnshadow hare is a rare blessing. They say her presence promises a day of gentle skies and golden light, though she never lingers. For just as the sun rises, she vanishes into the brightening world, leaving only the memory of the stormy pink sky and the wildflowers that dared to bloom in the shadows.’

Kelly Stevens-McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in a pale green tray frame. Canvas size - 41 cm x 61cm. Framed size - 49.5cm x 64.5cm - £750

‘In the Quiet corners of Devon’s ancient woodlands, where moss carpets the earth and wildflowers bloom unseen, there is a legend of a most curious fox.

Unlike his kin, who thrived on cunning and chase, this fox was drawn not to the hunt, but to the mysteries of the green world.

Clad in a fine waistcoat and jacket, he wandered the forests with a leather-bound journal, sketching each leaf and bloom with meticulous care.

Some say he could speak the language of plants, whispering ferns and coaxing secrets from ivy-clad ruins. Others believe he was once a Victorian botanist who, lost in his studies, was transformed by the magic of the land.

But whether fox or man, his work remains - pressed flowers found in forgotten books, their names inked in elegant, untamed script.’

Story by Kelly Stevens - McLaughlan.

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Canvas size - 90cm x 90cm. Framed size - 94cm x 94cm - £1,200

Deep within the tangled heart of the old wood, where the trees whisper in voices long forgotten, the Hollowshade Hare watches with knowing eyes. Its fur, woven from autumn’s final leaves and spring’s first buds, shifts with the turning of the seasons, never quite the same twice. Some say it is not merely a hare, but the spirit of the wood itself - a keeper of paths that no longer exist on any map.

Travellers who stray too far into the undergrowth sometimes catch a glimpse of it, a flicker of warm gold against the deep blue hush of dusk. If they follow, the world around them seems to change. Familiar trails twist into stange new routes, and the wind carries echoes of voices they almost remember. The Hollowshade Hare never lingers , but those who tread in its wake often find themeselves standing somwhere unexpected. Somewhere they never meant to go, yet exactly where they were always meant to be.

Story by Kelly Stevens - McLaughlan

Original Acrylic on Canvas. Framed in white tray frame. Canvas size - 90cm x 90cm. Framed size - 94cm x 94cm - £1,200

‘In the hush of early spring, when the frost still lingers at dawn but the air hums with the promise of warmth, Bramblekin emerges from the undergrowth.

His coat, woven with the blush of new blossoms and the green of unfurling leaves, marks him as a creature of the turning season. But those who glimpse him in the bracken whisper of something older - an ancient rite of renewal, etched into his very form.

Upon his back, half- hidden beneath the petals and ivy ,a pale sigil glows in the moonlight. Some say it is the mark of the earth itself, a sign left by the first thaw to call forth the new season.

Others insist it is a blessing from the spirits of the ferns, a gift for the guardian of Spring.

Whatever the truth, Bramblekin does not linger. He moves between the trees, scattering the petals with his footsteps, leaving behind only the scent of blossoms and the hush of something magical passing through.’

Story by Kelly Stevens - MacLaughlan.