Mysterious window.A menacing traffic warden seems to threaten us, car-less as we are, as we walk down Grosevenor Road. He fixes his eye on me from under his cruel hat. "You can't wait there, mate," he says. To my relief he is addressing not me but the driver of a car drawing up behind me. But you never know nowadays.
Alongside the garden where I grow vegetables, the deserted garden of an empty house is layered with blackened stalks, fading grass, and thistles which have flowered and flopped. Everything this morning is sere and damp. But apples still hang on to the branches an old tree that has lost its leaves.
2 comments:
There is something very Andrew Wyeth about your photo, Joe. Good shot.
So many of your photos remind me of paintings. This is one.
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