In the 13 years our parents have owned this house the field behind has always been for sheep, but for some reason this year it’s been planted with wheat. Last night I took an evening stroll through in the still-wilting heat with my camera in the hope of capturing the golden hour.
The light was a gift. It was still so warm the wheat smelled grassy-sweet in the sunshine and the red Wiveliscombe earth was baked red beneath my feet. I couldn’t resist lying down in a furrow made by the tractor’s wheels, looking up to the blue sky and breathing the scent of a British summer all around me.