Felicia Chapman

The heat made ripples over the ground as though the water had breached its banks and was spreading its glistening tendrils across the landscape. There was no breeze to rustle through the grass and trees, no sounds met her ears but the quiet lapping of the lake at its shores. The air was close and humid, so thick you almost imagine yourself wading through an ocean of cotton wool. She was glad of the light material of her white tank top and short r...