Field of barley.

Sun flitting , wind strengthening from the west. Ian tells me about the fields, how many and whats growing at the moment. I walk up the track beside the sheep and young bullocks, who follow me and watch as I make a pencil sketch of the view to the west. A lamb gets its head stuck in the wire fence. I can’t free it so report back with the news. The turbines on the top of the hill are monsters, their short sharp breaths carving the air into ribbons. Swallows whip past my face causing me to start. I spot a black sheep in the field below the farmhouse, walk on. Sitting in a field of barley I paint a line of trees on the skyline with my fingers – I forgot to bring any brushes…