I'm fascinated by the spaces between. Little bits of wild, left behind by the plough, too rough or inconvenient for the ploughman, but loved by the wildlings.
A remnant of rural life, surrounded by developing subdivisions, safe only until it becomes worth the work of flattening the rolling landscape. I record it while I can.
Recorded on a hot summer day, Don's hill, was an anomaly, a steep drop into what may have once been the bed of a rushing glacial river, long gone, and now permanently erased to make way for a "better" road.