Fenland

Driving up to Norfolk, through the brooding fen country, the heavy sky hung so low that it seemed to brush the tops of the rushes and the wind-blown reeds. The ploughed fields were bare and long fingers of steel coloured puddles pooled the rusty soil. Then a rook alighted by the side of the road. Wings outstretched, toying with the raging air, its feet touched the earth with such delicate precision. The landscape was so heavy it felt as if it would suck you in; enmired forever in mud and iron hard skies - but the rook brought lightness to that place, deftly lifting off from the cloying ground as we sped past and, in doing so, it transformed the world...