One late afternoon in November two years ago I found myself in the woods. The light was fading and a steady wintery breeze found the gaps in my woolen scarf and rustled through beech trees overhead. I had just painted a rapid and expressive view of the path that led down into Grim's ditch, Nuffield. I got carried away flicking my brush at the surface to depict the brown pine needles and remaining leaves; I had to add a new piece of painting paper to extend the composisition.