Day Time
The crump of ancient motor and distant shriek of bird, splits open the clipped hedges and curved field of gate cupped harvest.
Here, when 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 broken windowed shopfronts, you walk in silence through ankle cement, wooden glue, canal wire and rusty nail.
Steve Coel
Steve Coel
