Taking these photographs of Anglezarke with an old film camera — fulfilling some tacit obligation, an oblique demand of the landscape itself — the process was curiously abstracted and removed. I felt locked along certain lines of transit. Moved deliberately from one square to another in an elaborate game whose objective its players had long forgotten.
But all the while the limbs of this vast moor seemed to say,
“Look, I carry this river.
My hands are its banks.
My arms its course.
And I love.”
.
.
.
.
