The wild landscape encased within urban walls, surrounding the theumming silver carcasses of giants of bropdignagian proportions 
Is under threat.
The skippers, the wild chamomile, the muntjac and the young oak saplings reaching up, all to be buried beneath soil and rubble.
Once a tip, now a wilderness to be returned once again to a dump for the excess of men and a new transport project.
The industrial metal humming and murmuring in the damp air. The electricity crackling metres above me head bowed low.
I'm chasing rain.
The openness of this landscape allows the wind to rush over me. My hair to tangle and twist, my jacket to be pulled closer around me as i see the wild chamomile clinging onto its petals. The muntjac deer prints in the mud are now accompanied by my own and my dogs'.

The land curves, dips and rises as i myself snake around the space. 
In and out.
The grasses undulate, rippling waist high like waves, as above then red kites soar and search.
A carrier bag itself now being carried becomes caught and tangled in the barvbed qire fence running parallel to me, until suddenly it tears itself free.

No place is untouched by us.
We leave our fingerprints, smudgy and undeniably human.
Marking and scarring. Tearing at the land in the name of progress.
But right here. Stood with a pattinated sky above, a ridge of semi ancient woodland to the left of the horizon and the silhouettes of diggers to the right of me
I know which way i'll turn.