What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow 
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only 
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, 
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, 
And the dry stone no sound of water. 
Excerpt from The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot

Photos taken in London, 2015.
Unreal City
14
99
0
Published:

Unreal City

This series was taken in 2015 during my stay in London.
14
99
0
Published:

Creative Fields