July 26th – Passing through Stonnall on my way home, I noted the harvest has started, presumably to beat that morning’s rain, but it’s a sobering sight.

Near Lower Stonnall, the oilseed rape has been cut, the fields looking ragged and desolate, covered in the stalks, pods and shredded chaff that the harvester blows out after flailing out the precious black seeds.

Perhaps more strikingly, the field adjacent has already been harvested and ploughed over for the next crop. 

It feels uncomfortably like Autumn’s breath is on my shoulder…