Walk With Me: Emma Simpson
Stories of place, memory and wilderness
Welcome to our collaboration feature here at Wild Quiet Folk!
Substack is an endless source of inspiration, a cacophony of unique voices that can lead a reader through the weird, wonderful and wild.
Here, other creatives bring you their personal meditations on place, story and wilderness - the heart of Wild Quiet Folk. This series is in an interview format, but offering creative prompts rather than questions - the freedom is with the contributor, to respond in whichever way they see fit, be that words, photos, drawings, anything that enlarges rather than restricts.
Our contributor this month is Emma Simpson.
Thank you for being here, and I very much hope you enjoy the below, as Emma tells us about…..
The last walk you went on
A beautiful, blustery walk and a dip, as the skies changed from mackerel, to blue, to sunset. I walked with my best friend in the world, and someone who knows and understands my soul. We don’t see each other as often as we’d like, so every moment is truly special. We grasped 24 hours together on the Isle of Wight last week, and had space to connect and just be. Life always seems to get in the way of what’s really important, like simply walking with someone you love.
A celebration of season
I wrote this piece about the magic and mischief of Autumn. There is something about this time of year that captures my heart, holding it in a place of transition and anticipation. Reflections of a year coming to a close, a preparation for wintering, and a sense of enchantment in the air.
The things in your pockets
A lip balm, possibly a key, possibly not, a phone…my hands. The hands of my children, who are no longer children, yet still we entwine as we walk.
A place that feels wild to you
The Atlantic coastline in its rawness and unpredictability. Whether that’s Cornwall, Scotland or standing on the fringes of Western Ireland. It reminds me of one of my favourite quotes: ‘a terrible beauty is born’ (Yeats). Here, I feel like I’m on the edge of the world, witnessing terror, beauty and everything in between. I feel the elements in all my senses and it stirs my own wildness within.
A moment of care
For me, care is about the simple things, the hug, the cup of tea. The knowing that you are being held in that moment in whichever way you need to be. Perhaps it’s being listened to, or perhaps being left to rest without the need to communicate any answers. As someone with chronic illness, I feel most cared for when my loved ones intuit my needs, letting me be how I need to be in that moment without making it about them. If I’m quiet, and go within myself, there is an understanding that I may need to lie down and be wrapped up in a blanket like a sushi roll. Care is in the wordless placing of a cup of tea by my side, making me feel safe, and loved. At other times, it’s all in a hug. This photo of my husband and my eldest daughter taken several years ago says everything to me about a moment of care in its simplicity, gentleness and contentment.
A place that holds history, yours or others
The water.
I believe that memory is held in the elements, and that the essence of what went before is embedded within the earth, and the waves. Aside from the archaeological and biological remnants, our emotional imprints and shared histories are forever captured as the water witnesses the continual cycle of life, birth and death.
Here is an excerpt on this from my forthcoming book, Breaking Waves (out March 2025):
“In the water we connect with those that came before us, those that share it with us, and those that are still to come. It is a place where we create memories of togetherness with those we have yet to meet, where we imprint our stories in the waves as we scream, cry, laugh and sing, leaving a piece of our spirit to wash over others. The salt of our lives connecting us back to our very origins.”
A story you found in the land
I went to a writer’s retreat on the west coast of Ireland a couple of months ago. One of our writing assignments was to go for a walk, and come back and write about something we encountered, focusing on two of the senses. It was a beautiful way to explore the land, as I centred on smell and touch. So many stories unfolded. Some told of pomegranate and first frosts, or of being cleansed of congested thoughts. Others were taken to sensations and memories evoked through taste, or wrote about seeing their lost younger selves amidst the daisies. Inspired by the smell of a flower that reminds me of my daughter, mine became a love letter to that daughter who will soon leave home to fly the nest. A story of longing and remembering, grounded by the comfort of the land, and the familiarity we will find there no matter how far apart.
Here is a small piece of it: ‘The Book of Smells: a Love Letter to my Daughter’
“Oh, the smell of your fuzzy newborn scalp, and the malty tang of milk vomit – seriously how did you produce so much? When you got sick, I would smell your breath to determine if it was an infection. One whiff of the plant-withering sourness and I knew.
And now – the familiar biscuity bite of your fake tan. The earthy, metallic tang of blood on the day before your period, and your horror at my witchery when I tell you you’re about to come on.
The sickly-sweet alco-pop vapour that giggles from your lips when you return from a party, repeatedly splurging how much you love me and trying to tidy up, instantly giving the game away.
The mouth-watering aroma of my herby chicken that hauled you back from the precipice of vegetarianism, allowing me to finally throw out all the ‘sunflower mince’ that had been clogging up the cupboards.
How you drift around in a cloud of floral body sprays and buttery popcorn.
Your book of smells is my comfort blanket.”
A small thing you learnt recently
The word ‘confelicity’, meaning “delight in someone else’s happiness”. How lovely is that?
Emma is an author, wild swimmer and Tea Sommelier (yes it’s a thing!). After over 2 decades as an air traffic controller, she became unable to work due to chronic illness, and now lives a very different life, with writing at the heart.
Her first book, Breaking Waves, is about the relationship of women with water around the world, and how we navigate the ebb and flow of life. It’s coming out March 2025 and is currently available for pre-order on Amazon, at Waterstones and hopefully local book shops if you enquire 🙏
She writes a publication called Lemon Soul on Substack which is all about sharing refreshing perspectives and slices of life. It’s a place for you to know you’re not alone – there is always room on her sofa 💕
I love Emma’s writing. It’s so raw and familiar and extraordinarily human 🩶. This is wonderful.
Beautiful Emma