Textures of Time

I love how old things crumble. And doesn’t the salt air and coastal wind do it more gracefully than anything? The fading, cracking, peeling, rusting and crumbling down. The beautiful returning to earth. I love how it all suggests stories and brims with a life lived. How we lean in to things that sit in the elements and search for clues to excavate the tales of turns around the sun we didn’t see. It’s funny I don’t look at old things and think how they were abandoned, I look at them and think about how they were loved.

Here’s an old boat I found whilst waiting for a client, beached and collapsed in to the sea spurge. Still tethered but immoveable from it’s final resting place. West Mersea textures at it’s finest…

 

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