March, the time of fatal ides, mad hares, emerging equinoxes and tectonic clocks. I managed to scrape a day to whisk my charity-shop lens for a walk, along the barren footpath leading through remnants of Tide Mills village. The aim is to get some sort of zine out of it, a hunt for leftover phantasms. I found green bogs and stranded close-ups. I should impose a deadline on myself, in case the village comes back overight and the photos are no longer relevant.
Otherwise, there are 33 photos in March's little gallery here. They're largely a ragtag bundle, filled with pending, which is at odds with spring trying to make an appearance. Maybe I'm holding on for summer, or for winter again.