Abstract Landscape Painter. Rural Dweller. Lover of Modernist Art and Design.
Grey clouds blowing across a verdant patchwork of landscape. Different shades of softness, illuminated here, and then there.
Every day threatens rain, but none comes. The earth in the fields is cracked - openings as wide as my thumb. If we don’t get some moisture soon, crop yields will be down. Especially after the snow-delayed Spring.
A buzzard glides above the sheep field and finches chatter in the hedgerows. The air is temperate.
As I leave the lane behind and set off uphill, I hear only the skylarks and the wind. The wood sounds like the sea.
On a path along the edge of an oat field, I count five Meadow Brown butterflies - alighting, ascending, alighting, ascending - ahead of us as we walk.
Then home through the barley; the wind rippling the green, velvet surface. Waves passing over us.
All text & images ©2018 Carol Saunderson