A decent-sized murder of crows is flying over the remains of a golden wheat field. Some settle on the telephone lines which span across the frame of the photograph, supported by a single pole right in the middle of the shot.

A couple of stained, hefty, industrial concrete piers rise from the water of a harbour facing onto the North Sea. The water is dark and choppy. The sky is pretty dark and cloudy, too. But a low sun shines on the concrete and gives it an almost golden appearance. The cormorants who are resting there seem to appreciate it.