The glare of the sunlight pours from above.

The black pitched wooden walls of the barn and sheds prevent the circulation of air.

There are no trees for shadow--nothing but a few elder bushes, which are crowded at intervals of a few minutes with sparrows rushing with a whirr of wings up from the standing corn.
But the high pitched roof of the barn and of the lesser sheds has a beauty of its own--the minute vegetation that has covered the tiles having changed the original dull red to an orange hue.

From ridge to eaves, from end to end, it is a wide expanse of colour, only varying so much in shade as to save it from monotony.

It stands out glowing, distinct against the deep blue of the sky.