Over the weekend the field which abuts our garden was a hive of activity. It was harvest time once again. Dreadfully noisy, how farmers can cope with spending hours at a time driving combine harvesters is a mystery to me. Slowly but surely a haze rose into the air, sufficiently thick to affect visibility. This was borne out this morning when I went to my car - which had been sitting on the driveway all weekend - and was greeted with a thin film of dust all around.
This microscopic experience was transformed into a macroscopic experience this evening, as the unusually-quiet train headed through the rolling Hampshire countryside, taking me eventually down into Wiltshire, past a beautiful patchwork of fields, golden and green, some harvested, some not.
For sheer beauty, my train journey is best experienced at two times of the year. One is the summer evening, as I witnessed tonight. The other, the bright winter morning (which I generally do not see, it still being dark when I travel up). The English countryside at its best.