Fragmente einer Sprache des Schreckens

Batterie Longues-sur-Mer. People killed here. People died here. A tractor tows a plough over the fields, back and forth; birds sing, gulls scream. I smell the sea.

I know the guns reached far and were not easily destroyed. However, I’d like to imagine that after the first destructive blows the remaining soldiers realised that their chances dwindled. And ran.

People run around and photograph the cannons. I don’t want cannons; they are not appealing, not even visually. I try to make a picture of this space that stifles me.


[This week’s photo challenge reminded me that today might be an adequate day for posting this.]