Remains.

 

DSC_8027

 

The byres are coming down, to be replaced with new ones. There are workmen on the far side of the roof. I sit drawing, listening to their conversation. ‘Aye Christmas is coming.’ Starlings on the wire,  geese in formation. ‘I’m in the wrong place yet again’. Crows, shotgun. Angle grinders golden stars, ‘….sparking like fuck up here’. Each corrugated sheet is removed. ‘See over there, there’s someone sitting on that pile of rubble. They’re wearing red and there’s something white. Thought it was fuckin’ Santa, man !’ ‘What are they doin’ ?’ ‘I’m drawing’, I shout. ‘She’s drawing’. ‘What’s she drawing?’ ‘All of this’, I say. ‘Uh huh?’ Silence. Stillness. Shatters. Screech of metal on metal. ‘I must have magic hands, ma brain doesna ken when they’re doin’ things’. The cold seeps and sits on bones. I stand  and stretch. Daylight is dwindling.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s