A man walks from the tracks, away from the sepia cacophony of industry and his bleak, toxic routine between factories and railways. He falls into the long grasses, rolling in the stench of wildflowers and the bog, watched over by broken pylons and colossal trees, embracing his own pliability, his own weakness and the fresh joy of vulnerability. Here he remains for some time, knowing he is the sole person to occupy this zone of seething, infinite life.
Paddy Dobson
28th November 2020