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‘I do not study much abroad these very hot bright days, last year I almost put my eyes out by that past time.’
Sheep, there were no cars when setting up but now there are cars close on the lane, cars further on the A12, aircraft, woodpecker, this is a great vantage point and suddenly I can get a sense of what Constable would have seen, fell, connected with, these are the same fields (need to get a map of the field names), ancient boundaries, and I hide behind one out of sight but not out of my mind, but this high up on a gentle hill the sound from the vale drifts up and there are sirens, and boy racers, I thin that they should put a volume limit of roads as well as a speed limit. But then I remind myself that this is probably the last hurrah of the combustion engine era, pheasant, jackdaws roosting, skylarks, storm flies, a donkey, thrush, rustling grass in the hedgerow. Old stump Hidden in the grass, hiding Trying to be invisible but failing Tinder dry from the long hot spell Magic Old hits A three minute wonder Verse chorus verse chorus A chorus of the Song Thrush Singing along lines in the sky Trails of tales That for hundreds of years This field fares well It’s still here Providing sustenance For sheep A forever search For the tender Moist and nutritious Nibbled out And then moved on Finding ones own path Amongst the herd Free within the field But don’t go too near the edges As you’ll see the way out Is blocked And that there is another side People peering in Across, over Under the grass hiding.
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AuthorField notes from Stuart Bowditch, an independent field recordist working on Constable Ambisonic. Archives
November 2025
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