ROAD KILL 11/24

‘I drove up to Scotland today. There was something about the magnitude of crushed up pheasants on the motorway that I found familiar.

I read something that said pictures are a concrete manifestation of the imaginal world.

A falling from grace, if you will. Arguably a stupid and ignorant thing; to offer yourself to the road. But they do it every time.

Their wings are splayed out and their bones are tiny little shards of pearlescent white.

They never learn their lesson. I haven’t either.’