Pictures from a short fieldtrip to Burford, a village in the Cotswolds which has been (relatively) untouched since before the Victorian era. The doorframes are still of wood beams and sticky straw paste, carved with dates from the 1500s. The highlight of the trip was a tramp through country lanes and through farmer’s fields out to a small stone church in a cow pasture; we were greeted on the way by a farmer and his black English setter puppy named Pandemonium. I don’t realize how much I crave the open and fathomless space of fields until I experience them again. When we came out of the church it was twilight, with the moon rising golden above a solitary house in a periwinkle sky. You don’t think places like this exist except on postcards and movies, and then they do–it is a constantly rewarding surprise.