Late afternoon in the Peak District.
I love the layers of this landscape: the way it repays closer scrutiny. The shadows, the tree, the puddles. The road; the obvious. Moving out into the open. The new fence and the older gateposts. Then, the abandoned gatepost in the field to the left. Memories, in the land, of older boundaries and routes. Dark, the dotted line of the molehills, mapping a subterranean system older than the farmland above it.
Fading, changing, working. In the far distance, the cold aloofness of the hills.
More Peak District beauty.
Cold but searingly beautiful up on the moors this weekend. Pale gold grasses; stiff bronze bracken; hard jet shadows. Presiding over all, a bone-white moon. Faint but welcome warmth in the sun. The light so strong it shows up every imperfection in my camera. I really must do something about that …