stubble fields – August

All around us for the past week the harvesters have been busy.  Their engines sound steadily, rumbling across the fields – distant, close, distant, close – as they work the lengths of wheat.  Brown grain (not golden) bursts out from the spout, pouring into great piles in the following trucks.  A toddler’s delight: ‘Trac-a-tor! Trac-a-tor!’  Then the turning and the spinning, late into the dusk, to and fro, to and fro, ordering the spread lines of straw all down the long, odd-shaped fields.  Still dusty brown.  At last huge rolls of straw stand.  Suddenly, in the evening light the stubble really does look as golden as fairy-tale straw.  

rows of straw on the stubble - dusty brown in the shade under a wispy sky

rows of straw on the stubble – dusty brown in the shade under a wispy sky

Buzzards circle the middle-air above, their wings unmoving, like sails spread to hold their course.  I rarely see them stoop, but they must – why else are they there?  A hare fled out of a quiet stubble-field yesterday.  Two tawny-beautiful fallow deer bounded away towards the hedges.  We watched them cover the distance.  The working fields must be full of all kinds of edible life for a buzzard.  High, cat-like shrieks – not ‘mew’ but ‘miaou’.

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the baler working in the field opposite – just turning in the distance

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coming closer

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and down – in clouds of dust

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– and back

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– and down

- and back -

– and back –

pale fawn at midday - the baler working its way along the rows towards us.

pale fawn at midday – the baler working its way along the rows towards us.

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