Sunday, 8 December 2013

There's no place like the the land of home: Weald and Downland Museum, Part 1

The South Downs, a place I call home. Nestled between the rolling hills are woodlands ankle deep in golden leaves, and stretching estate-land where sheep graze flint-jewelled fields and cloud-shadows run. Birds wheel over head; jackdaws chattering to roost or greeting the dawn, and from the thick hawthorn hedge a robin softly sings. Within the fields, woods and hedgerows of the Weald and Downland Museum, thatched roofs shed morning showers and within flint or wattle-daub walls, hearths glow with bright embers.

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