Blue skies and rust-pocked siding contrast the high-altitude blue sky. By the time I had worked my way back to the tram, it was sunset.
The building is winking.
A side door for the shop area with ivy crawling toward it.
A quick vertical panorama taken on my back at the sweet spot of a great summer sunset. On the skylight is the torch-cut catwalk that used to link the outside of the smokestacks that vented the cupolas.
“Against the blue sky, its rusting central silos look like rising smoke meeting the last minutes of a sunset. These give way to a corrugated night sky of blue gray, punched-through with staggered four-pane windows, all glassless.”
A huge steel tank, one of several left over, left over from either the Ashland Oil or Allied Chemical periods.
Standing on a caustic tank with my head out a roof hatch, I look at the sign of the last brand to be produced here.