The cypress grove on the Cassia

A few kilometres west of San Quirico, on the old Cassia, a dozen cypresses stand in a tight group in the middle of an otherwise empty field. There is no building, no fence, no explanation — just a dark cluster of verticals on a curved hillside, which is why it turns up in more portfolios than most cathedrals.

It is a pure shape-and-light subject. Early morning gives long shadows running out of the group across the furrows; the last half hour before sunset lights the trunks from the side and turns the field amber. Because it is compact and isolated, it also works as a background for people: put the couple on the ridgeline to one side and the grove balances the frame rather than competing with it.

The field is private and planted, so all of this is done from the roadside. The Cassia is a real road with fast traffic and narrow verges — park properly in a gateway or layby and keep everyone off the tarmac. After rain, the field edge is heavy clay; sensible shoes matter more here than they look like they should.