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  • Before this one night of frost, the discarded piece of plywood had had some life or other, perhaps a builder's sheathing layer. A good life.

    Then demolished. Cast onto a tip.

    From where a fisherman, seeing it's use, took it to line a box. Until it outlived that use too.

    Then it made a journey through the sea, a raft of sorts, and cast itself onto this beach.

    It was put over a muddy hole and walked upon, used as a small, bendy, bridge. Thats where I first saw it.

    Several years of use later it was still there, careworn and fragile in places.

    But on this one particular day the frost had got there first. Transforming the bridge into a wonderful layered piece of abstract art.


    That's real ply ability don't you think?
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