Postcard from... the Concrete Footpath
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It is like one of those riddles that begin something like this... There is a dead man, lying in the middle of the desert. Between his fingers is a broken match. What happened here?
On the concrete path, in the marshy, semi-cultivated edgeland, I come across this scene. Two pairs of wellington boots and a disassembled rake. No sign of the boot wearers, or indeed the owner of the rake. It was a moment to stir the imagination as I paused on the path and the question to the riddle came quickly to mind.
What happened here?