Tag Archives: concrete

24th November 2013 – crane

Posted on November 25, 2013 by Liz Terry

Bright, metallic red, it rises above the drab concrete buildings. Framed by the grey sky, it moves to left and right, performing its allotted tasks with grace.

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1st November 2013 – bandstand

Posted on November 2, 2013 by Liz Terry

Abandoned in the middle of a concrete slab, it looks out over the busy harbour port. Its roof is painted in faded colours, the red white and blue of national pride.

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23rd October 2013 – Footbridge

Posted on October 24, 2013 by Liz Terry

Its concrete structure towers above the busy motorway. The people seem unreal, shadow puppets silhouetted against the brightness of the sky. They pass over it like autumn leaves, insubstantial and soon forgotten.

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10th October 2013 – front yard

Posted on October 11, 2013 by Liz Terry

The metal gate squeaks open, scraping on concrete, coming to a springy rest against the unruly hedge. Reaching tendrils stretch across the path, ready to grab any visitors and deposit fluffy seeds on jacket arms. Nature out-performs us, a hostile … Continue reading →

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20th April 2013 – old man

Posted on April 21, 2013 by Liz Terry

He stands at an old concrete bus stop. Straight and tall, he is clad in a sensible plant-green waxed jacket. He stares as we drive past, his long off-white beard hanging in a neat triangle down to his navel.

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