Untitled #1 | #CapturedInWords

The train sings as it pulls from the station, wreathed in mist and shuddering gently in the cold. Black crows are shot into what I can see of the landscape, like bullets. Peels of flat silver peer back at me, still, as though the water is paused deep in thought, or conspiring with the shroud.

Photography: Me and Orla

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