Enter Sally Sparrow. (Open!)
Sally Sparrow sees absolutely nothing wrong with crawling through people’s yards uninvited in the dead of night.
After all, how else would she find what she was looking for? And what Sally was looking for was images. Images of beauty, of loneliness, of abandonment, of sadness. They make her happy, in the way precious little else seems to do nowadays. Bizarrely enough, more often than not she could find them in the gardens of suburban homes. Sad little birdbaths, poor miserable tiny flowers, the odd housecat or squirrel stalking around. And every so often there’s a little statue, and Sally finds herself reluctant to blink.
She’s come to Bannerman road to do what she does best-- trespassing and taking photographs. Her camera around her neck, she finds streaks of light and shadow and garden gnomes aplenty, but so far not much strikes her as sad. Not much worth committing to film, anyway. Her poor camera is turning out to be slightly neglected on this night.
Until she climbs over one fence in particular, and is presented with a sight she honestly never imagined was possible, not even in dreams.
Blue boxes. Rows and rows of blue boxes, all identical to the one she found in the cellar at Wester Drumlins, the one she rescued, the one that left her behind. The one she’d never forgotten.
If she didn’t know she had a photographer’s eye for detail and 20/20 vision, Sally wouldn’t believe her eyes. Just to be on the safe side, she slowly raises her camera and snaps a picture. And another. And another.
After all, how else would she find what she was looking for? And what Sally was looking for was images. Images of beauty, of loneliness, of abandonment, of sadness. They make her happy, in the way precious little else seems to do nowadays. Bizarrely enough, more often than not she could find them in the gardens of suburban homes. Sad little birdbaths, poor miserable tiny flowers, the odd housecat or squirrel stalking around. And every so often there’s a little statue, and Sally finds herself reluctant to blink.
She’s come to Bannerman road to do what she does best-- trespassing and taking photographs. Her camera around her neck, she finds streaks of light and shadow and garden gnomes aplenty, but so far not much strikes her as sad. Not much worth committing to film, anyway. Her poor camera is turning out to be slightly neglected on this night.
Until she climbs over one fence in particular, and is presented with a sight she honestly never imagined was possible, not even in dreams.
Blue boxes. Rows and rows of blue boxes, all identical to the one she found in the cellar at Wester Drumlins, the one she rescued, the one that left her behind. The one she’d never forgotten.
If she didn’t know she had a photographer’s eye for detail and 20/20 vision, Sally wouldn’t believe her eyes. Just to be on the safe side, she slowly raises her camera and snaps a picture. And another. And another.