On Sunday 6th April it snowed before I woke. I walked around the fields, and stopped at one point to look at the view as a possible picture, across fields with snowy tracks to the wood as a line on the horizon, the mass of the wood petering out into to individual trees against the sky. I looked hard and mentally noted: the horizontal layers of field, trees, clouds; the positioning of snow and the green on the field; the lines made by the tractors -- double lines coming towards me and white against the green of the new wheat; the dark blue green of conifers in the wood and the tiny bright green on the hawthorn bushes at the front edge of the wood; the grasses and Hawthorn twigs close to me and how they hold themselves against the background of field in the sky as if they were the tallest elements in view.
Back home after the work I try to sketch out the painting and put in the details I remember. It's not bad but the tracks across the field don't find their position. When I go back a few days later to check, I see that of course they meet at a vanishing point somewhere beyond the sky.
My memory needs training for the visual.