I love these long hot summer evenings. Walking on the hills this evening I stopped to watch the hay being baled and brought in all around me. The grass is nearly waist high, pinky seedheads puffing pollen at me as I wade through. As the sun sets in an orange glow, the hills looked as though they were burning, an echo of the real flames that licked across them as they were swailed earlier in the year.
The forecast is good for the next couple of days, and everyone will be baling through the night. Even I suddenly have a glut of grass on my poor, dry hill pasture. The small ponies are grumbling at being shut away from most of it.
I've almost finished the painting too. It is still continuing on with the transformation theme. Can you see that this is my crow girl again?