Flooded Seams

Here the rails simply run downhill into water and keep going. The lowest levels of the pit lie drowned under a still black lake, so clear and so motionless that the timbered roof is reflected in it perfectly, prop for prop. Rows of old pit props stand up out of the surface, their feet lost in the dark. Cold. Ledges of loose spoil and fallen roof stone run along the walls above the waterline, slick with mud where the lake has risen and fallen. Halfway out, a drowned pump engine shows its red flank and one iron flywheel above the water. The air smells of wet iron. Lamp light turns the water teal near the edge and nothing at all further out. Far overhead, through the rock, the pumps are felt more than heard, still working and still losing.