Today, we decided to go for a short walk in the crisp afternoon sunshine, after an Italian-style lunch. We followed a designated public footpath which appeared to go straight across a vegetable patch consisting of lightly frosted brassicas. Most of these path signs are wooden and weathered, easily merging into the organic surroundings. It became apparent this route was not taken often. The owner was outside, tending to a small pile of smoking vegetation. We walked through the sultry haze, hoping our presence was somehow softened by it. The right to roam is a "hot" issue at the moment. It's all part of new access rights brought in by the countryside agency, meaning all maps will need to be updated. I've always been interested in maps since a short spell of orienteering at school. We had one class exercise in which we had to trace the map contours and rebuild the landscape in 3D. It gave me a new sense of the rich topography of maps and their relation to the actual environment, not merely defining conurbations, routes and boundaries.
On our walk, we also came across hundreds of pure white free range hens scattered across an expanse of green, a somewhat poignant sight in light of the avian flu news stories. Next to this meadow was a small patch of dying sunflowers, allowed to seed naturally. Their withered heads, caught by the frost, brittle and greying upon stout, upright stalks, had curled inwards, producing quite grotesque but fascinating forms. I had to photograph them.
The underlying association of all of these scenes seems to be that of freedom: of the right to roam freely, to live peacefully, to die gracefully. From the decay of old flower heads, happily left to nature's means of seed dispersal, comes the possibility of new growth much further afield...