Tuesday, 28 May 2013

The Shed of Danger

I've mentioned The Shed of Danger in a previous post. The small shed built into the corner of the seawall is even more dangerous now. The other week the brick walls and corrugated roof dropped by a foot, the wood plank that's wedged diagonally across its interior must have slipped somehow. It's still wedged, keeping the remaining pieces of wall upright, but with more bricks lacing the ground around it and those still making up the wall far more gappy it feels time for a rename: The Shed of Peril. A smaller but more threatening structure.

What makes it particularly frustating is that there is still wood in there: bits of pallet and furniture, a couple of tree trunks, I daren't retrieve. Every so often I'll wade through the nettles and lust after the unobtainable wood. Just like a teenage girl with boys. There's a certain thrill in peering at the roof, the walls and working out how I might safely snaffle some pieces before acknowledging there's no way I'm going in. Like the school disco.

Originally this was the oil shed, where they kept the oil for the lighthouse. There's an arched doorway (now bricked up) in the wall nearby, providing a shortcut to the lower light. Over the winter a little owl was roosting here, although I've not seen it recently. And now it's bedecked with apple blossom, footed by bluebells, making it seem almost Romantic in its wreckage. A folly.

The sensible thing would be to pull it down. Which isn't going to happen. That it looks exactly the same as it did, apart from being a foot or so shorter, draws me back again again. My surveillance of it is another reason for braving the nettles. Will it drop lower and lower, as if sinking below ground? The old fishhouse was partially below ground to keep the fish cool. Somehow the building (so far) has retained its integrity of four walls and a roof. It's just editing itself for a change of purpose. One that doesn't involve five foot high people.


Max said...

Wonderful, Sarah. Things changing to fit their purposes or purposes the objects never deemed right is so interesting. And integral to all poetry. Max x

Max said...

Wonderful, Sarah. I love the idea of objects moving past what they embody to the viewer. Like the mid-stage of a chrysalis. And what we as poets do every day to objects, like the stones, which suddenly we need to be fists.

Sarah Hymas said...

haha - like the stone / fist comparison, Max :)

Lorna said...

You have more self control than me. I would probably end up being the mysterious body buried within The Shed of Danger.