The golden hour just before the sun sets is a magical time in the country. The sky to the east is a subdued version of the sunset to the west. The light is a warm glow. When the hay is growing the sun catches the tips of the hay, and if there is a slight breeze to cause them to sway like waves – it is a sight to see. I also save a little piece of my heart for round hay bales. I love how they sit out in the fields silently waiting to be collected and taken to feed livestock. There is also something almost architectural about hay bales. I don’t really want to know exactly how they are made as I prefer to just see them as little mysterious hay rolls. During the golden hour they are organic monuments to farming in the golden age.