If I could be a field . . .

. . . it would be this one.

Small and hilly, and just a bit secretive, only ever peeked at through a straggly hedge as I drive past.

Tussocky grass, beloved by rabbits, gets tamed once a year into neat stripes, that hug its gentle curves.

Hugged on two sides by a protective, dark wood , a hint at mystery where the field edge meets the old woodland.

Deep shadows that fall across the grass at sunrise, retreat slowly back to the trees by sunset.

Old grass and old woods that are largely left to themselves, it makes me smile whenever I go past.

Yes, if I was a field, I would like to be this one .