I am the grit in the gears, the missing bolt, I am the poker of sticks into spokes. I like to know how things work, but sometimes when I take them apart and rebuild them, I have a few pieces left over. I am a man, so I tend to leave reading the instructions until after it goes wrong. And like all men I have a comprehensive mental map of the world and never need to ask directions. I never get lost, only sometimes I'm late, or end up in the wrong place entirely. It's what we do.
Thursday 25 July 2013
Garden Pictures from an Old Industrial Space.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5zyfYU99Pv_hlU6huWiZa-oqzr5kBAIKx4YprWkFLOFI3U_ss5YjUJnn27yL9nCnxiEC01QuNpK2jcYG0dRCpr-gO90LmvDQiBtCqviw3w1ZCrgofHglwZWx8_7KziUx6cGeuXDrvdvO6/s320/IMG_20130724_164540.jpg)
A rocky oasis.
T
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAgcFgBufp4DB3jxahendfPLg2pJfH7-bDmJ-pUDP-0KdEyHgHlKDZPOFo51oFP9b6HQw1qvcaw15UzXmMMjzf_mqRIiKxmIIyoJEOvEo1Pe30wffeqe9zEL45ZClGblNqmwo6XL-hd05T/s320/IMG_20130724_163419.jpg)
The butterflies... There were about ten, but they were shy, every time I approached, they'd flutter to another planter. They're Small Tortoiseshells, we get a lot of them, I find them in the attic in wintertime, woken, re-animated by the odd day of sun, fluttering against the windows, when they really need to sleep until the flowers are in bloom again.
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