Coming back to Raynor Winn’s voice in The Wild Silence feels like returning to a quiet cove you once walked, barefoot and full of questions. It carries the same raw honesty and reverence for the natural world as The Salt Path, but this time the journey is inward — a slower, softer reckoning with home, healing, and the life that follows after survival.

This book begins not on the coast, but in the quiet aftermath. Raynor and Moth, having completed their epic walk, are still searching — not just for somewhere to live, but for a sense of peace, belonging, and purpose. Much of The Wild Silence is about what it means to try and settle when you’ve been reshaped by loss, by wildness, by walking.

There’s a deep tenderness in the way Raynor writes about Moth — his illness, his fragility, his strength — and how their relationship bends and grows under new pressures. There’s also a lovely thread about reconnecting with her mother, and a remarkable project that sees Raynor and Moth return to the land in a different way — by rewilding a neglected farm. These moments are where the book shines.

The prose remains lyrical and sincere, though at times the structure felt a little meandering. Some sections felt slightly unfocused or repeated certain beats from The Salt Path, and I occasionally wished for a tighter arc or more clarity. But then again, life after trauma is messy and non-linear, and perhaps the book’s form reflects that truth.

It’s not quite as immediately striking as The Salt Path, but it’s a worthy continuation — quieter, but just as brave. If The Salt Path is about losing everything, The Wild Silence is about relearning how to live in the aftermath. About finding meaning not just in wild places, but in stillness, in roots, in tending the land with your own hands.

Favourite quote:
"The wild silence isn't empty. It’s full of memory, of heartbeat, of breath. It listens to you, if you listen back."

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐ (4 stars)
A reflective and deeply felt continuation — The Wild Silence is a book about returning, restoring, and remembering what it means to live with the land.

“Sometimes, the end of a path is just the beginning.”

Every now and then, a book comes along that quietly but irrevocably shifts something in you. The Salt Path is one of those books — gentle and unassuming on the surface, but full of deep, tidal emotion that carries you somewhere unexpected.

Raynor Winn tells the true story of how she and her husband Moth, newly homeless and reeling from his devastating diagnosis, decide to walk the 630-mile South West Coast Path from Somerset to Dorset. With nothing but a tent, meagre funds, and a fierce sense of love and determination, their journey is both a physical trek and an emotional reckoning — with grief, with resilience, with the raw edges of the natural world.

What struck me most was the simplicity and strength of Winn’s writing. There’s no pretension, only honesty — about exhaustion, about shame, about the beauty of a windswept cliff at sunset. Her words are carried by the rhythm of the waves, the call of seabirds, the relentless forward motion of walking. And through it all, her bond with Moth is achingly beautiful — quiet, unwavering, and filled with the kind of tenderness that feels rare and vital.

This book is not just about a walk, or a hardship overcome. It's about choosing life — deliberately, doggedly, even when life seems to have turned its back on you. It’s about rewilding yourself in the face of ruin. And it’s about hope — not the shiny, surface kind, but the real, salt-stung kind that comes from the ground up.

If you’ve ever found solace in nature, questioned what it means to “have enough,” or needed reminding of the small, sturdy things that carry us through — The Salt Path will find its way into your heart and stay there.

Favourite quote:
"To carry on, to make a new home in the light, not the dark. To live. To live the best life we could."

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Raw, restorative, and deeply human — The Salt Path is a quiet triumph of spirit and landscape alike.