I meandered along the path within the trees at the bottom of the field. The most secluded area of the field.
Eyes to floor, focussing in at the minutiae of scattered things. It is an odd experience, examining this place at this scale. Focussing your eyes in, how you might while trying to extract a splinter from your finger, it feels like intimacy.
The dominate order here is seemingly chaos, randomness, absence of rules. Of course it is. No people, no rules, or rules of another kind. But the thing that strikes me, as I contemplate the detritus that I come across, is the equality. The levelling out. Within the mix of man-made and organic stuff, everything is just here. All is equal, living, dead, man-made, organic. The snails sheltering in a metal barrel, others within a hollow tree, the slow decay, weathering and burying of things carried here by wind or pocket.
With this absence of order, I feel a strangeness in my position. I bring order and judgement along with me and it leaves with me as I head home again.
