Saturday, June 10, 2017

Tide Mills, a brief photo essay

I needed to clear some brainspace after a long election night, and headed out west, to the devillaged skeleton structures of Tide Mill. I had never made it quite that far myself, despite seeing it from the train every day.

After a brisk walk along the Seaford sea front, I followed an iron line onto the crumbled wood of concrete leftovers. I wondered where the windmill stood as a strong wind blew the spray from a high, jade-coloured tide at me. It must have been quite crazy to have lived on top of, and in between, the rush of the waves and their insistent daily yin-yang.




















(Random bonus links...)

I hate the Internet, a lovely review from James
It's always about the money, a reminder of why unions.

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