Not for the first time, an image of the nearby field. The first sight of the moor always triggers some sort of response I suppose. It's the very edge of the village, or at least the fence in the foreground is. Beyond this is many kilometres of flat expanse of bog. Looking at the particular photograph afterwards I am struck by how much it resembles a previous one. In fact at one point I wondered if it was a previous one that had got mixed up with today's. But no, the weather's different, and the viewpoint of this one has moved slightly further to the right. Nevertheless it's interesting how a certain fortuitous lining up of the fence in the foreground in relation to the proportions of the field against the sky has once again prompted the impulse to make an image.

It was morning this time, about 10am (although the flat greyness of the sky tends to render the different times of the day a little bit indistinguishable). The jogger visible in the distance shouted "hello" in what sounded like an English accent as she went past. If I make this journey every day at the same time will I start to meet the same people doing the same things at the same times?

Perhaps the morning light does make a difference. I say that because I hadn't noticed this table before. People might be interested in a mossy ping-pong table, mightn't they?

Someone new arrived yesterday and immediately commented on the moss. I'd like to think that I had noticed it already myself, but now moss is more present in my mind I suppose. It's everywhere. This was hardly the most notable spot, but I'd left this morning with a new attitude that I need to develop an increased immediacy between myself and the environment. The directness felt particularly important here.

The longer one is in the countryside the more one becomes aware of birds, I find. It doesn't happen straight away though, for some reason.

It's around this point that I always start to think I've properly reached the moor. Or at least once that row of trees is behind me.

I've looked this way before and wanted to make a photograph, but have previously been somehow too apathetic to reach for my camera. Or have been convinced that a little bit further along the way would be much better. Or a mixture of both. Actually, I think one time there was a woman walking her dog here, which made me a little self-conscious, or distracted at least.

This isn't a thought I had at this precise moment, but it strikes me now that there always remains the possibility of making any images one wants to make "next time". This isn't a very helpful attitude. I'm glad I wasn't thinking like that today.

It's almost boring now, but it's just so "right", so I succumb to the temptation. The weather isn't as favourable here as it has been on previous days though.

So the thing that has held several compositions together - up till now rather anonymously it must be said, even mysteriously - turns out to be a bird watching hut. It has a bar-stool in it that swivels, and the walls inside are covered with carpet. The door of this one wasn't locked either so I was able to go inside. I opened a couple of the windows with a great effort (they weren't as well designed as the previous hut), sat on the stool for a while, but mainly I felt a bit bored. Someone on horseback appeared to be approaching me at one point, but turned round before they got close. The hut felt like a meaningless distraction. I wished I could go back to not knowing what it was.

This time I decided not to turn around and go back the same way, but to head on to the river instead, and take a longer route back. A man in a canoe stopped and seemed to be staring at me for a while, but I think he was just having a break after his exertions. His mind was probably elsewhere, or empty. After a short while he started back the way he'd come.

It seems less urgent here. Too pretty somehow, too pleasantly picturesque. I felt I was enjoying myself here, which can't be good.

For what must have been six or seven minutes not a single car went past. The way the trees line the road here reminded me of France, and the car crash in that film by Krzysztof Kieslowski. But I didn't pursue that thought for very long.

I don't even care anymore. It's just a field.

And a puddle.