A misty pine forest layered with a murmuration of birds swooping across the sky and a photograph of a disused railway tunnel.
I used to spend hours here as a child, pretending I was one of the Railway Children. Dotted alongside the track at intervals are several abandoned signalman's huts, little more than sheds. Sometimes things could be found in these shacks; a scrap of illegible paper, a forgotten jacket, the remains of a fire; memories of other passers by, visible imprints, held by the place.
This work is a representation of that place as I hold it in my memory.