Island Station, in the middle of the power house, in the middle of a thunder storm. Flapping pipe covers and sheets of ran penetrating one massive arched window and blasting through the other, as winds power through the building from the Mississippi. The sound of the thunder made every length of steel squeak under the pressure.
A single cloud makes its way to Buffington Harbor and Lake Michigan from the quiet backroads of the plant.
Wintertime is quiet, except for the planes overhead.
Sarah in Miller Creek Drain.
The coal water power plant stack accompanied the smell of an arson.
On the top floor of one of the old wards, the slanted roofline makes the this group room more claustrophobic. Portra 160.
From atop a concrete slap that seals the old path of Mine Shaft #3, I loop up into the hoisting room.
Here’s the church, and here’s the steeple; Open the door and see all the people; Here’s the parson going upstairs; Here he is saying his prayers…
One of two projectors, still set to run old 3D flicks.