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There's nothing to suggest why this sign had been erected in Woody Bay, where the footpath met a minor road.
How?
How does a broken plastic box containing odd shoes (one with a hole), legs of broken furniture, grit, a coat hanger, leaves, an empty packet of cigarettes, and a christmas hat with cardboard antlers, get left on the pavement out side a nice house in Islington?
What amazing chain of events lead to this...
The universe began, time began, elements formed into gasses that forged planets on which life evolved and grew, developing intelligence, that itself began to consciously recompose matter into deliberate objects with purpose and meaning...
Then this.
Makes you think.
This little block has laid in our path whilst walking our dog for as long as I can remember, a solitary, lonely block of something, on a circular path to nowhere. Sitting amongst a neighbourhood of scalpings, clinker and gravel, downtrodden but tirelessly repeating its message.
'Block.'
'Block, block.'
'Block what?'
Neither a description nor a command. Just a mantra.
Nobody had mentioned that they had noticed its existence. Or uttered a word of recognition until today when we both opened our mouths to say together.
'Have you seen that.....'
'the Block? Yes!'
Raising more questions that any inanimate, inert object could ever be expected to answer. We left it as it lay, but before we left we took this of the rarely mentioned random block.