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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 7, Number 3, September 2013


Robert Davey
Dereham, Norfolk, England

Wheat Fields

When Mum was going through her van Gogh phase Dad would drive us out to Chosen Hill on Sundays. He would park just off one of the lanes and we would pile out to play in the fields. Mum would set up the easel and start to sketch the wheat fields receding towards Robinswood. I thought her pictures were wonderful, although she never managed to sell any.

Autumn set in and for a while our visits stopped. Then one day Mum took us back there while Dad was at work. She shouldn't have been driving—she had just failed her driving test for the fifth time. She got out her pastels while we scuffed through the leaves and picked a few shrivelled blackberries. Pretty soon it grew cold and we started to whine about going home. Mum did not finish her picture.

receding tide
dries to grey



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