Hidden Valley

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.