As we came across the Cheshire Plain the bus was suddenly filled with the smell of damp, damp earth. Must have had a real downpour here, I thought. The sky had been getting steadily more black, even though it was all sunny & blue skies at home.
Well the ground had certainly been well watered, but the strength of the gorgeous, distinctive, loamy smell was mainly because it’s that time of year again.
All is safely gathered in. Black-wrapped bales are gone.
The fields have been ploughed.
Now the winter storms begin.
