Chris Campion, Telegraph Magazine, September 2006
EVERY TIME Joanna Newsom walks into her house she has cause to reflect on the ways that nature encroaches on human affairs. "I think there might be more spiders inside than out," she says, brushing past a cobweb hanging outside the front door of the 1920s cottage. The house is shielded from the world by a thicket of sycamores and pines. A single weeping cherry tree sits out front, branches moping like the shoulders of a sullen teen.
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