Before the clouds broke, I snapped this profile of the dumping control room and its spiral staircase. These are the colors that I dream in.
Looking through the old brewhouse toward the Keg Wash House.
Timbers overlap where mine cars plunged, a strange wooden fence traced the center of the beams.
One of the few windows that escaped steel plating the last time the hospital was sealed tight to let nature roam within.
The side of the oldest building on the property, the former casket factory.
A leftover swatch remembers the last fabric sewn here.
A view of the government presses, with pages of law across the floor covered in footprints.
A dead work truck rusts near an outbuilding. Everything is marked with a code. Modernity.
The hole in the floor, I like to joke, is a not-so-sneaky trap for the photographers creeping to get a close-up of the amazing peeling paint. I somehow escaped this snare, however, to warn the rest… perhaps you.