I never tire of Port Meadow and have walked through it daily whatever the weather for years. I love the huge skies and stepping onto the meadow that stretches towards Oxford presents an ever-changing canvas. It is large enough to lose yourself in nature, to embrace the elements, and familiar enough to encourage a quiet meditation.

The seasons transform the landscape, shape-shifting and refreshing the palette. There is invariably something unexpected and beautiful to observe whether that is a hawthorn bush heady with musk-scented flowers, or the shimmer of plover that contours the broad backs of horses, their long tails sashaying. Gunmetal-coloured skies threaten thunder over a buttercup ocean in May, while frost on winter days crystallizes the floodplains under high blue skies. In autumn, the last of the black poplars shed yellow leaves that fringe the edge of the river like a golden thread.

I attempt to capture a sense of oneness in my photographs. I have always been drawn to the poetry in photography, and try to catch the moment as it feels on the day. I am not technically-minded, and shy away from Photoshop so that the images are as true as they can be.