wastelands?

Friday, November 03, 2006






Stood there, just looking, initially it’s only the fence dissecting the two tracts of land that distinguishes the Brownfield derelict wasteland from the common grassland.
Walking on the [waste] land reveals a different reality.
My footsteps sound soft on the dense carpet of grasses – then Crunchhhhhh… the sound of plastic being crushed underfoot. I have to pull back long tufts of grass to find the source of the sound - a plastic milk carton. Wasteland becomes a fitting description again – domestic waste and building waste – no longer quite so visible – but still there.
Sat on a concrete outcrop I watch the Skylarks swoop down beside an old washing machine – rusted – and all but covered in brambles… and a young man on a trails bike.
The muddy tracks across the site are embossed with tyre marks – they mark the way to the disused car park where 2 young men in the middle of the car park take turns to ride a trails bike. We clock each other…
The young men must have been as wary of me as I was of them – a little nervously we acknowledged each other – then – as our paths cross – the briefest of verbal encounters…
“hi”
“hi”
They leave – one riding pillion

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