The old oak by the field

The hay had just been cut and the whole field smelled of it. At the far corner there is an oak that must be older than every house in sight, with one low branch that grows almost level with the ground.

It was too hot to keep walking, so I sat in its shade for most of an hour and tried to draw it. The trunk is easy. The branches are not: every time I followed one it split into three more.

A pair of buzzards circled over the cut field the whole time, probably looking for mice in the stubble.