flax
“Another glorious Summer’s evening, another impressionist monocrop. This time we parked up beside an undulating field of flax, with closed-up flower heads like small pale pearls. The sun was already lowering when we arrived, the shadow of a large tree lengthening across the field, sunlight escaping through gaps in its canopy to here and there feather the flax with gold. Disappointingly, I was too preoccupied with my camera to hear the lark, which my husband says was singing high above us, ascending.” June, 2020
