Resting plough

      We discovered this little beauty while walking the dogs.
      It was lying under a walnut tree having had many years of hard labour during the years before farmers and smallholders owned tractors. Those years when the plough was pulled by a horse only cutting one furrow at a time.
      The patination on the plough has almost turned into camouflage and in the leaf litter and dappled light you could quite easily walk past and not even see it at all. It is as if the plough is slowly being absorbed by the ground that it once worked.
      Slow means little in the timeless landscape of the Fens where there seems to be all the time in the world.