There is a strong sense of reclamation that can’t be ignored. Grasses, weeds and thistles are worming their way back in by force. The ground has finally been left to relax long enough for these plants to nestle down and begin to grow.

Gaining access to something new in a time of quarantining and shielding was invigorating. The land is teaming with stuff. Old debris from the work that was carried out there, forgotten shoes and metres of piping are half buried. Partially pushed into the earth, embedded by digger wheels that rolled over the land however many weeks before.

But the machine was off this time. New wires had appeared. Old wires had been disconnected and thrown a couple of metres from where they’d been working before. A new gate and fence had even been installed at the entrance to the plot. In the process, whoever did the work had also flattened the wild flowers that had begun to flourish in the shade of the trees which sit at the borders. And you can’t help but try to weigh up whether that new barbed wire which keeps nothing out and nothing in was really worth this little act of destruction.