Conveyor Screws

In the heart of downtown Oklahoma City stood an old oil mill,

its final days already written.

For two months I pressed for permission to enter,

hoping for one last chance to capture what remained

before demolition claimed it.

 

When the gates finally opened,

I walked its passageways for two days,

capturing every whisper of steel and shadow that caught my eyes.

This was my single moment —

and I held it with both hands.

 

Among the relics, the long, spiraling conveyor screws

pulled me in with their quiet geometry,

their rhythm of repetition and form.

To frame something once ordinary

and coax art from its forgotten edges

was a reward all its own —

a farewell gift from a place about to disappear forever.

Done