The dark, still waters of Queen's Dock

This photo was taken just outside the window of my hotel staring down into the dark water. I had nearly an hour to explore the area around the hotel to catch a shot, but I liked the stillness of this.

Liverpool feels wounded from its long industrial decline. This is palpable. Within half a mile of this hotel are derelict warehouses festooned with shrubbery pushing through crumbling brickwork which crouch cheek by jowl with refurbished plush office blocks, artist studios, drive-through junk food emporia, a skateboard park lavishly bedecked in spray-paint graffiti, upturned cars, heaps of litter, skips bulging with old bricks, cool stray cats, and an import business proudly announcing that it is now in its third century of operation (which I confidently predict will be closed by the end of the year). There must be money being made because most of the cars are big and flashy (four-weel-drives, jags, mercs) but the infrastructure mainly looks old and broken or new but fragile. Built from promises, nailed together with hope, dissolving in the rain.

BUT the docks. The docks feel solid, immense, immovable, potent, permanent. The docks feel more a part of the landscape than the whole of this city. The docks will be forever.