Still raining. Another notebook. 

In Sleaford we followed alleys and passageways that led us quickly to the edge of town. The castle grounds. Birdsong. A man digging shallow trenches in his cottage garden ready to plant. Another pathway leads to a concrete wasteland where Sharpe’s Seeds had been. We talk to a man walking his dogs and he tells how busy it had been, back in the day. And the National Centre for Craft and Design (the HUB) where we are working, had been a seed warehouse in its time.

We thinks of seeds. Seeding. Re-seeding. The object that contains within itself the potential for growth…

And at the edge of town, the old Bass Maltings. An extraordinary vision approaching from the south up the old roman road and, close up, we see it as fortress and the realm of birds. 

Advertisements