There is a field that I pass on my regular walks. It is bigger than the average Irish field and find it very compelling it is such big space. It is a field that could be worth dying for unlike the tiny one in the movie of the same name. It is a majestic piece of land sloping up from the gate on the road to the horizon on the brow of a hill 500 metres away, a wide open space that leaves one with the impression of limitlessness.
I take shots of at different times of the year, ploughed or in stubble or with barley waving. Sometimes I scare up a flock of curlew or crows. Often I just stop and lean on the gate and allow my mind to wander up the memories of furrows that shade the stubble and and take off into the sky.