Echoes of Amsterdam in a side canal. Sculpted trees and a cold grey light, a silver quality to the air, the black water. An open expanse of softened, uneasy water. Canoeists, geese, swans, coots. Giant, distant hulk of Manchester United, the bright red of the nameboard the only colour in a drab waterscape. Water dominates this space; the buildings lower, the water wider.
A war memorial to sailors lost from these walls, this cold water. A ruffle of red poppies.
An expected tide of old-time dock waste; dead plastic, tar-stained, saturated woods, oil-soaked, splintered; haunted by a pied wagtail, cold and sifting, a rag-picker bird.
A rhythm of trees, the rattle of dry leaves, a syncopation of landscaping like a drum roll around the Lowry Outlet. A charm of goldfinches clattering the trees, a rare warmth of birds, a richness of bird life.
A giant stretch of white girder bridge, a tubular arm reaching through snow across cold water. The vast Lowry plaza, full of Spanish mums and tottering Japanese tourists. A silence of snow, gigantic folded buildings, a reminder of East European cold; the idea of cold itself. Snow in the wind, a thickening like an ingredient in the sky, the cold, the afternoon. A woman waving from a balcony of coloured lights, the day darkening, failing, the promise of tea.
And with the dark ('the fading' too English, too soft, too chiaroscuro) a different landscape emerges; a light-scape, a view of reflected lights and gleams on icy roads. A landscape of reflection and warmth - a Bladerunner world of soft music, big glasses, slow moving cars, the illusion of bullet-proof; and ice, ice in the wind, silence and cold and balcony candle light.
with thanks to Paul and Ali
