Sawmill Road.

It is raining on Sawmill road, past the sheds of the engineering works. Monstrous ironwork forms, their rounded, flattened, angled, perforated bone shapes lie waiting for pick up. Rosebay willowherb and already ripe brambles fringe the roadside . The road sweeps up and over a miniature version of Newcastle’s iconic Tyne bridge, loose, rattly and paint worn. I veer off down a path that follows the river. It reminds me of the Dighty in Dundee, it pleases me. Litter, graffitti, Himalayan balsam, shopping trolleys and ducks all vie for their home here. I turn back as the rain gets heavier to explore another day. I draw the engineering works under the shelter of a wayward sycamore. A small section of verge was at sometime planted with sweet william, marguerites and wallflowers, all straining to be seen amongst the plastic bottles, burger wrappings and pigeon feathers. Someone cared enough to make the smallest of gardens, now almost a memory, here beside a roundabout and a drive thru’ Starbucks.

A new sense of place, not far from my home. I look forward to returning.