Across Shropshire in early light after a cold and wonderful night playing our last outdoor festival of summer. We saw our breath as we sang… so now autumn, a season like my soul. A mist skein scarfing the hills, translucent as a jelly fish. Sometimes heavy rain, speaking of winter, sometimes sun like a memory shining though clouds. Deep turned earth, overhead a murder of crows.

Able's Harp at Fordhall Festival