Having himself been brought up in Kent, with its undulating and varied landscapes, the flatlands of the fenlands are not in his blood.
But this Christmas, they got under his skin.
Here are some photos that I took on a walk on Christmas eve.
Concorde. Times three.
A jaunty tree sits amid a lush green field, the hinterland obscured by mist.
The outlaws' house, across the peat earth.
Life can be lonely at this time of year for some.
But other parts of creation rejoice with upspread arms.
Down, but not out.
The green on black provides a vivid visual contrast.
Guess what these are...
Not potatoes. Sugar beet.
Dykes, fenland-stlye.
Unexpected visitors.
Llamas roam the land here. And Michael Jackson's nowhere to be seen.
A giant agricultural watering can. Spot the prestigious NFU number plate.
From here to...King's Lynn (eventually).
The husks of last autumn lie in anticipation of the new year.
1 comment:
I remember a great description of a boring story . Its like a walk through the fens .You can always see where you are going and just how long its going to take to get there.
Great Pics actually , you have a bit of talent there. In fact a feeling for space colour and line that verges on the gay .
From the Land of hop and glory are you. Figures
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