The word photography means drawing with light and whoever was on the Divine Lighting Console was having fun. A spotlight fell on a cluster of sheep, startling white fleeces with blue paint marks to tell their owner. Then light played along a ridge, tracing the architecture of the fell. Dark cloud loured and rays of light probed beneath and gleamed off the RIver Kent as it flowed south past a sheep fold. Floodlight softened the grasses, turned them gold. A magical day.
I fear I dabble too deeply in magic and I'm overthrown by it. I'm jinxed. I have a splendid cache of landscape images from Kentmere and they have a mind of their own. They flip upside down, sky to the ground, and will not be righted. No matter how I try. Nothing for it, I'll have to find a magician.