The mudflats at Burnham-on-Sea stretch vast at low tide, and standing alone on them, the 9-legged striped lighthouse. I was on the concrete seawall when a child ran through during a long exposure, ghosting himself beneath scattered graffiti. Wind fought the longer exposures the whole time. The structure is impossibly geometric, impossibly solitary — visible only from the weathered steps above, you see how strange it is.
