The fields are sodden as rivers run over their suggested boundaries, winds sing through struggling, swaying branches and an upturned plastic plant pot skids along my front patio as though a secretive animal is running undercover.
It’s British February as it should be. Cold and somewhat miserable.
I venture out with the idea of Cuckmere Haven, burst riverbanks and floods galore. Perhaps a smidgen of light in the sky to reflect awesome colours and a flock of migrating birds, murmurating and squawking in unison.
A quick paced hike up to the summit for a decent viewpoint and I’m greeted and bleated at by confident sheep, woolly jumpers on looking rugged in the gales.
The light was far from extraordinary, so I wandered on almost desperate for something remotely exciting.
A jeep was herding a hundred sheep up a steep bank, that was a decent shot and then there was this cluster of buildings, a farmstead with lights glowing warmth and comfort.
It was quite dark, so there is a bit of noise on the photograph, yet I am pleased with how it turned out.