There sits in a garden a monolith of times gone by, a great heft of wood, stone and metal, a cider press now looming ever present over the white border. Ivy, bramble and thistle have all tried to reclaim it but nowt stand a chance on something so hardened by time. The wood is as tough as the stone, the stone as much a part of the garden as the very soil it’s bedded down in and the metal fused into place linking wood to stone to garden.
The deeply fissured timbers form a base for new life as lichen and moss colonise, blending the press into the garden and drawing the garden deep into its grain.
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