Urban Grit

When  we moved from our beautiful bush block with gardens and views that went forever, we were fortunate to land with another view; lots of green with gorgeous silhouettes.  

From our front door however,  if we look up and across the way, we see a water tower.  It is brutal in its mere existence.  It towers, literally, and is quite imposing.  Most certainly not like our back view; nor the view from 601. As we walk into town from our new place, we walk past it and its gritty asphalt forecourt and storage areas. 

I am intrigued by how much I enjoy this functional juggernaut that imposes itself upon a rather composed and sedate neighbourhood.  At first I thought I would find it horrid; but I am kind of in awe of its sombre, stoic majesty and enjoy watching it tell its own stories.

Here it is in some of its many moods...

Walking by, through the barbed wire fence, against a thrumming sky, October 2020.

An impending threat of a sky, November 2020.

A cloudy moon night, December 2020.

Bouncy clouds against the blue blue sky, January 2020.

Glowing at night, January 2020.

Eerie storm light, March 2021.

Patchwork cloud fragments, April 2021.

It feels a bit like a sentinel, standing and guarding; watching over.  I feel quite friendly towards it now and often look to see what is saying agains the sky. The sky changes its language.