You’ll remember me when the west wind moves upon the fields of barley
You’ll forget the sun in his jealous sky as we walk in fields of gold
So she took her love for to gaze awhile upon the fields of barley
In his arms she fell as her hair came down among the fields of gold.
There is something special about returning to the same spot a few years later. I first made photos here about 3 years ago and thankfully not much has changed.