in the inner west

 

When I walk round here, I see walls and trees. It’s a place of warehouses and cottages with bars across doors and windows. Curtains are usually closed but you can hear voices as you pass each door. Trees burst from small walls or straddle along the outer perimeter of high walls as if to provide a careless lace to their grey density. Some trees’ trunks remind me of how much longer they’ve been here than we have. There are beautiful things on the ground.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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