The place I prefer to be at all times; the countryside. The fresh air, it comes in many different natural fragrances; from the heavenly light floral notes of blossom and blooms to the absolute gag inducing smothering smells of animal waste. It's a mixed bag, you never know what's coming. The evenings in late spring are absolutely divine when the warmth of the sun heats up the blossom through the day then the ambrosial perfume is wafted through the air for those who care to promenade at dusk.

The long grasses which tickle bare legs, the wild flowers nestled within. The spikey spiny thistles who prick fingers, fiercely standing their ground. Stinging nettles lurking in odd spots as well as in swathes; their lanky figures packed in together in a show of strength. Papery, silky leaves laden with poison, just waiting for their next unsuspecting victim to absent-mindedly brush past. The split second delay before the yelp of realisation, stinging, throbbing, soon to be joined by angry raised blobs on the skin which scream out to be scratched. They pulse relentlessly, begging for fingernails to relieve their constant irritation... To buckle or resist? Temptation runs rife.

Weeds that grow over six foot high. Do they know they're unnaturally tall? Do they laugh amongst themselves in shared smug pleasure at how nothing can get between their mighty leaves and the sun, with no-on but one another to cast a shadow.

Sophie