This Field of Thorn and Seed

Worth all the scrapes and scratches,
Walk through this field of thorn and seed...

This short two line poem emerged from my experience of photographing a field of tall dry flower heads that spread far into the distance. Despite their dense, prickly stems, being among a swathe of Teasels in early spring felt vital, beautiful. A place where the colour and sound of summer insects and the seed of autumn plucked by birds long gone. A place where memory and the light of day unite.

At times it is not an image or words that stand well, but their union.