A crippled tree, slightly bended to the right, marking the end of a ditch in an overly large winter wheat field, uphill from the Vale of Catmose to the ridge of Market Overton, the village where I live. An ash tree, hardly changed since the first picture taken early December 2018. Nearly every day I witness the slow death of a lonely figure standing fiercely in a far sighted landscape, perpetually altering due to the sun, the wind, the rain, and the clouds.

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