Dear ,

Before anything else, we wanted to say a huge thank you.

For your messages.
For your encouragement.
For the wonderful photos you’ve sent of yourselves holding No Paradise with Wolves after receiving it for Christmas.

Seeing the book out in the world - in your homes, in your hands, beside cups of tea and glasses of wine - is wonderfully surreal. And to everyone who has taken the time to leave reviews on Goodreads and Amazon so far, we truly can’t thank you enough.

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As part of this end-of-year reflection, I (Katie) was also recently invited to write an article for Conservation Magazine, looking back on our journey here at Wild Finca which you can read here:

​“Rewilding Wild Finca: 7 Lessons from 7 Years on a Small Farm in Northern Spain.”​

We’ve learned that small-scale rewilding is not neat or linear. It is responsive. It asks you to pay attention, to adapt, and to stay humble.

And now, a small invitation to close the year with.

Over the past few days we’ve been playing with haiku - the ancient Japanese poetry form that captures a moment of nature in just a few lines.

A haiku is traditionally:
• very short
• rooted in nature
• a pause of attention
• often written as three lines

Roan and Albus, as you can imagine, have an abundance of words when it comes to storytelling… so I gently helped them narrow things down to fit the brief.

Here’s what they came up with, standing at the window the other morning:

Cold white frosty ground​
​Quick movement, black-backed fox​
​Hunting quietly mice​
— Roan

Blackbird flies past​
​Towards the sun​
​Eating gusanos​
— Albus

Both were created from moments we witnessed together from our window - proof that you don’t need to go anywhere special, or do anything grand, to find inspiration.

And Albus’ poem… a perfect reflection of his current language world, a mezcla of English and Spanish.

We then spent the afternoon in the mountains at the old wolf den we visited in summer, searching for bones of prey species - one wild boar found!

Ice-slicked puddles crunch​
​Little feet stomp harder​
​Joy is loud and red-cheeked​
​— Katie

Summer walk turned winter stream​
​Around rock, slow feet slip, risking ankles​
​Every wet footprint worth entering​
​— Katie

Stomp to the old den​
​Where are the bones?​
​— Luke​
​(Not sure Luke fully understood the brief…)

Are ours perfect? No.
Are they “authentic” in the strict traditional sense? Probably not.

But the joy of making them, the slowing down, the noticing, the truly being in a moment before reflecting on it, that feels like the real point.

So here’s your invitation:

Share a haiku from a nature moment.​
Field. Hedgerow. Garden. Pavement. Forest. Window. Anywhere.

You could close 2025 with one, or begin 2026 with one - or both.
Reply to this email with yours, or add it to the comments on our latest Instagram post.​

If you’d like a simple structure to play with:

• 3 lines
• Include something from the natural world
• Add a feeling or shift you noticed

Let’s see how many little moments we can gather.

Finally, thank you so much for all your emails about our Pond Guide that we shared in our previous newsletter. We did receive one important note from Janet who asked that we pass this on:

Wishing you all the very best for 2026!

From our wild corner to yours,
​
Luke, Katie, Roan and Albus