Nothing Gold Can Stay

This ink study depicts a scene about a half-mile from our house, in a copse of woods on the edge of a moor. There is always a curious atmosphere there, even in the honeyed glow of high summer, but it’s especially noticeable in late autumn and winter. There’s a real sense that something is about to happen, and the unseen participants are you just waiting for you to sod off so they can get on with it. The thing is, I can get all Paul Nash about it but in all probability, come nightfall it’s the premier dogging location for our postcode and I would never know.

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