A final visit to the soft gilded bristles of Knave’s Ash, with its bronze skeins and glinting copper.
At one end of this dry, brittle field, all the stiff congregations of desiccated rumex spires made me think of ermine, or of leopard moths, or the streaking on tulip petals, and always brush work, as if someone has been using the tip of a very dry brush to lift these late Summer vistas with a few licks of stronger colour.
More photographs from the flaxen, tinder-dry periphery of Knave’s Ash, where layer-upon-layer of fine filaments hold the late afternoon light at their tips and everything is crisp under my flip-flops, but soft on the eye.
In the knowledge the recent heat and drought must be turning the meadows, hay fields and forgotten scrublands into parched vistas of gold, ochre and rust, I’ve been keen to get out and about with my camera again.
We returned to the meadow at Knave’s Ash to find its once-fountainous grasses scythed to the ground, but around its edges long drifts of bone-white stems topped by aureate plumes, the bronze fossils of umbellifers, the chocolatey flower spikes of dock leaves, and smatterings of yellow daisies. A whole world of sepia and antique gold.