The land, the light

Never, ever, move without your camera. This afternoon was dismal. Rainy and dull, when popping out for lunch, I had an intense flashback memory to Coventry, April 1977, when I was a first-year student. The air temperature, humidity, greyness of the sky - it all clicked. Later, as I was about to cycle home, the heavens truly opened, rain bouncing off the asphalt in plumes of white. No thunder though. Camera around my neck, but protected by my Gore-Tex waterproof cycle jacket. Trousers utterly sodden through and through however.

Upon reaching Jeziorki, the rain ceased, and a low sun broke through, sending bright red rays through the clean air. There was a marvellous smell; the smell that you only register in the countryside after a heavy rainfall.

And that light; the quality of that evening sunlight, strong, red, fading. Out comes the faithful Nikon D40. It's bulkier than a digital compact, but it's a proper camera, and for a proper camera it's light and easy to use. Highly recommended.

Left: Our house, lit by a sinking sun. In the foreground, the oatfield, harvested. Above, a regional jetliner coming into land at Warsaw Okęcie airport.

It's 20 to 8. In a little over a month's time, it will be dark at quarter past six. Make the most of the long summer evenings while you can; drear autumn is just around the corner.