Day Time
The crump of ancient motor and distant shriek of bird split open the clipped hedges and gate of curved fields and cupped minds.
Here, where brown water fallen from rusty pipe clings to chipped rock, is where sweaty paths lead up into singing overgrown wired woods that close in on long forgotten cylindered reminders of hard labour and childhood.
Night Time
Stepping inside the broken windowed shopfront, you walk in silence, smoke in hand, through ankle cement, wooden glue, canal wire and rusty nail.
Walking Notes
Steve Coel
An 11.59 Publication
