My right foot

We’d been lifting the last of the potatoes as the heat subsided. Horseflies have been making mincemeat of me - tafani in Italian. There’s a particular place on the sit of my neck.

Having hauled the heavy bags up the steep terraced slope we shifted gears with an icy Campari.

The iPhone sometimes seems to discover photos on its own. I liked the colours here, the dusty scarred leather, the stone floor, the old terracotta, even the random charcoal. It seemed from a different era and somehow of wear, weariness and rest.